


The Shadow of Suspicion

by ItalianHobbit



Series: Everybody Lives AU [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fíli Whump, Gen, Middle Earth, Mystery, Poisoning, Politics, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Whump, everybody lives au, whodunit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItalianHobbit/pseuds/ItalianHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been eighteen years since the Battle of Five Armies, and unrest is once again sweeping over Middle-Earth. Fires have been seen beyond the Mountains of Shadow, and the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth must join together before it is too late. But while envoys from all kingdoms east of the Misty Mountains are in Erebor, Fíli is poisoned... and Thorin says no one may leave the mountain until the culprit is found. Can they discover who is the perpetrator—and can they save Fíli in time?</p><p>Part of my Everybody Lives AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Interrupted Party

Snow swirled around Fíli's feet as he looked down and across the frozen water. Three distraught faces looked back at him. Bilbo. Dwalin. Thorin. This was a trap. They had to leave. They could not stay, not even for him. He opened his mouth to cry out.  _Go._  No words came forth.  _Run._  He could not speak. Laughter came from behind him, and then the sudden sharpness of a long, cold blade—

Fíli awoke with a start.

Immediately he took a deep breath, staring up into the darkness. His heart pounded and his hands shook. He needed to speak. He started counting off on his fingers as he whispered to himself.

 _One._  "Azog is dead."  _Two._  "He cannot hurt me."  _Three._  "I survived."  _Four._  "I am safe."  _Five._  "My family is safe."

His heart still pounded. He counted again, this time a little louder.

"Azog is dead. He cannot hurt me. I survived. I am safe. My family is safe."

His breathing was easier now, and his pulse was slowing. He counted off a few more times, putting all his energy into believing those words. They were all safe. He was all right. Eighteen years. It had been eighteen years since the battle, and he was fine. He had made it through. His life was better now—good, even. He was happy.

And yet he was still having these dreams.

Fíli pressed his palms over his eyes and moaned. He wished they would go away, let him be. Wasn't it ever enough? Yes, these dreams occurred less often now—it had been at least a month since the last time—but even once was too often for him. He wanted to be free. He wondered if he ever would be.

Well, he wasn't going back to sleep tonight. With a sigh, he pulled off his covers and sat up, pushing his hands into his mattress. He wondered what time it was; surely too early to wake anyone. He had been told to find someone to keep him company, even if he didn't want it—but it would be inappropriate to ask the one he truly wanted with him right now. Kíli might not mind, but he hovered like a mother hen for the rest of the day afterwards, and today was not a day in which he wanted his brother worrying over him. No, he would sit alone for now. He would be fine. After all, it had been eighteen years.

Fíli started counting on his fingers again.

* * *

"Fíli?"

Kíli knocked on his brother's door again, frowning. Fíli had not come to breakfast, and when Fíli wasn't at breakfast… One day, Fíli would stop secluding himself after each flashback. Somehow, he had yet to learn that it was not the best way to deal with things. Dwarven stubbornness, he supposed.

"Fíli, it's me. Are you awake?"

"Yes," came Fíli's voice from the other side of the door. "Come in."

Kíli opened the door and let himself in, closing it behind him. Fíli sat at his desk, his chin resting on folded arms, staring at the wall. Kíli twisted his lips and sighed.

"How long has it been?" he asked.

Fíli shrugged. "Hours."

"How  _many_  hours, Fíli?"

"Five or six, maybe," Fíli mumbled, keeping his gaze forward. Kíli rolled his eyes.

"Blimey, Fíli," he said, crossing the room. He leaned over to look at his brother's face, and Fíli's shadowed eyes flicked over to him momentarily before returning to the wall.

"When are you going to learn that you can come get me anytime?" Kíli said softly. "Day or night. I don't care."

"I'm not going to run to my little brother every time I have a bad dream," muttered Fíli.

"So you'd rather keep yourself secluded and wallow in misery?  _Fíli_ …"

Fíli furrowed his brow and let out a strained sigh, pressing his forehead into his arms. Kíli put a hand on his shoulder.

"Did you do your counting?"

"Yes, mother."

"In the right order?"

"It's not the  _right_  order," Fíli replied, casting a gloomy look at Kíli.

"You've got to put yourself first sometimes, Fee, and this is one of those times," said Kíli, undaunted.

Fíli sighed and dropped his face back into his arms. "Whatever you say."

Kíli tightened his grip on his brother's shoulder. "You know there's no getting out of today," he said. "You're Crown Prince. You  _have_  to be there."

"I know, I know," Fíli said to his desk. He turned his head and peered up at Kíli with one eye. "But the dinner isn't until this evening."

"Aye, but there are still things to do before then," Kíli answered. "People to greet…"

"I  _know_ ," Fíli grumbled.

"You're not going to feel any better by secluding yourself," Kíli continued. "Come on. Let's get out of your room. Maybe we can find Flán… or Gimli… or Nála…"

"I'd rather stay here," said Fíli, turning his face back into his arms again.

"You're going to see a lot of people today, and you might as well start with some that you like," Kíli replied. "Or—a compromise. We leave your room, but I'll keep Uncle from bothering you until this afternoon."

Fíli finally lifted his head and looked up at Kíli properly.

"How do you think you're going to manage that?" he asked.

"I'll figure something out," Kíli said lightly, hopping up and sitting on Fíli's desk. "Tell him there's Elves somewhere they shouldn't be or something."

"That wouldn't work for long."

"There are going to be plenty of distractions today, Fíli. I can manage."

Someone knocked on the door, and Fíli and Kíli both looked to it with furrowed brows. Kíli strode over to the door and opened it; two young Dwarves, both with dark hair and dark eyes, stood with baskets in their arms.

"Hello, boys," Kíli said. "What's this?"

"Gifts from visitors," said Falur, the elder of the two. "Fannar's got a basket for you, but you weren't in your room, and we thought you might be here."

"A good guess," Kíli muttered.

"A gift from who?" Fíli called from his place at his desk.

"Gondor, I believe," Fannar replied. "Or… was it Rohan? One of the southern kingdoms of Men, anyway."

"Well, we will have to find out who to thank later," said Kíli. "You can bring them in."

Falur and Fannar carried the baskets in and set them on Fíli's table. Kíli dismissed them and then made his way to the baskets. One had his name on it, and the other had Fíli's. Kíli began to laugh.

"Fíli, come here," he said, waving his brother over. "You'll never believe this. Look what is in your basket."

Fíli was curious enough to come over and look, and instantly he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Kíli laughed even harder.

" _Apple_  liqueur?" Fíli said. "Of all the fruits, they picked  _apples_ …"

"Well, they tried," Kíli said, searching through his own basket. He had some nice Southern sweets in his basket: salt water taffy, rosewater lokum, a jar of honey. Fíli let out a delighted squeak when he found chocolate in his own basket. Kíli pulled out a jar of olive oil and looked at it in the low light.

"I bet Mum would love this," he said.

"She probably got some in hers," Fíli replied, lifting up a bottle of red wine.

"Here, I'll give you the honey for your liqueur," Kíli offered. "Trade?"

"Deal," Fíli replied, grinning. Kíli smiled and passed it over, and Fíli handed him the apple liqueur. Kíli threw the lokum in his basket as well, and Fíli looked at him questioningly.

"Too sweet," Kíli said.

Fíli shook his head and chuckled. "I don't know how you can't enjoy sugar," he said. "It's so…"

"Sugary?" Kíli finished. "I enjoy sweet things.  _You_  enjoy  _too_  sweet things."

"There's no such thing as too sweet," Fíli said defensively, peering into Kíli's basket for any more sweets.

"Hey, here's something!" Kíli crowed, lifting a stick of salami out of his basket. "Meat!"

"I'd better have some of that in mine, too," said Fíli, searching. He pulled out a stick of his own and smiled. "Excellent."

"These must be from Gondor," Kíli said, looking through the rest of his gifts. Spices, tea, coffee, another bottle of wine. "Don't you think?"

"Aye," Fíli agreed, already chewing on a chocolate. "Good on them for giving us such nice gifts."

"I'm sure the others have gifts as well," Kíli replied, putting everything back in his basket. "I wonder if Thranduil will bring any of his wine…"

"I doubt it," said Fíli. "He wouldn't want us to get our Dwarvish fingers on it."

"True," Kíli said. "Now, come on—this will be here later. Let's have lunch."

Fíli looked at the sweets in his basket longingly, but he nodded. He followed Kíli to the kitchen, where a Man with a dark complexion stood cooking alongside their own cook. He turned and smiled down at the two princes as they entered.

"Hello! You must be Prince Fíli," he said, bowing low. "My name is Hallas. I met your brother this morning at breakfast. I had hoped you would come try some Gondorian delicacies before the dinner tonight."

Fíli nodded politely. "Well, I am certainly willing to try them now," he said.

"Where did Gárwine go?" Kíli inquired, looking about.

"The Man from Rohan?" said Hallas. "I believe he went looking for a Rohirric spice for the food. Can't remember the name of it."

"Make that two Gondorian lunches, Hallas," said Kíli cheerfully. "Unless Gárwine comes back soon…"

"I heard my name," a voice called from the doorway. Fíli and Kíli turned to look as a pale, blond Man bustled into the room with a bag full of clinking things. "I'm here. I just had to find my things."

"Gárwine, may I introduce my brother Fíli, Crown Prince of Erebor," said Kíli, suppressing a chuckle at the Man's hurrying.

Gárwine dropped his bag on the counter and turned to bow low to Fíli.

"A pleasure, Your Royal Highness," he said reverently. When he rose, his pale eyes widened, and then his face broke into a pleased grin. "You look like you could be one of our own."

"A bit short for it, I think," Fíli replied.

"Ah, but your hair!" Gárwine protested. "The same shade as King Thengel. It looks just as kingly on you."

"Well, thank you for your compliments," Fíli said graciously. "Perhaps I shall have a Rohirric lunch today." He turned and winked at Kíli.

"Ah, you wound me, Prince Fíli," said Hallas, but there was a smile on his face. "I suppose you will have to wait for dinner to try our delicious southern food."

"I look forward to trying all the different foods that will be at dinner tonight," said Fíli. "I am sure there will be plenty to appreciate. Now, Hallas, Gárwine, if you will excuse us, we will be in the dining room awaiting our lunches." He nodded and stepped out, and after a nod and an apologetic smile, Kíli followed.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Fíli whispered as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Do what?" Kíli asked. "Don't you want lunch?"

"We could have just gone in and asked for food and left," said Fíli. "You didn't have to formally introduce me so I had to make conversation. They're just cooks."

"You need to  _talk_  to people, brother," Kíli protested. "You can't just—"

"Be left  _alone_?" Fíli interrupted. "Have some time to  _relax_? Kíli, I am not like you. You should know this by now. I cannot just laugh off the day's troubles and begin anew. I need some time to… to come back to myself."

They reached the dining room, where a few visitors to their home sat at one end of the table—a couple Rohirrim, judging by their bright blond hair, and a darker-haired Man as well. They appeared to be deep in conversation. Fíli and Kíli sat at the far end of the table, and Fíli angled his chair away from the Men and dropped his head into his hands.

"We don't have time for you to do that today," Kíli said. "There are people from  _everywhere_  here for these talks. Men, Elves, Dwarves… Gondor, Rohan, Dale, the Iron Hills… even the Woodland Realm…"

"I  _know_ ," Fíli ground out, his head lowering even further.

"You have to be able to talk to them."

"Mahal, Kíli, you're  _not_  helping!" Fíli shouted, lifting his head and glaring at his brother. Kíli glanced at the Men at the other end of the table, who all quickly averted their gazes. He looked back to Fíli.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Fíli merely sighed and bowed his head again, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Gárwine appeared with the food and laid it down in front of Fíli and Kíli.

"A Rohirric lunch for Prince Fíli, and a Gondorian lunch for Prince Kíli," he said cheerfully. "I hope you enjoy."

"Thank you, Gárwine," Kíli said, smiling up at the Man. Fíli kept his gaze down. Gárwine looked between the two Dwarves and cocked his head to one side, but he said nothing more; he simply bowed and left. Kíli looked back to Fíli and gently nudged him.

"He's just a cook, Kíli," Fíli said quietly. "I don't have to address him."

"That doesn't sound much like you," Kíli replied.

"Well, I'm the one who said it," Fíli grumbled, pulling his plate of food closer. He dug in without another word, and Kíli took it as a signal that he was to stop trying to make conversation at least until they were done eating. The dark-haired Man at the other end of the table kept looking at them. Kíli could feel his gaze, and he caught him staring several times. Fíli, however, noticed nothing; his attention was fixed on the food in front of him, and the moment he finished, he rose to leave.

"Wait, Fíli," Kíli called, rising from his own seat and taking hold of Fíli's arm. Immediately Fíli ripped himself away from his brother's grip.

"Kíli,  _stop_!" Fíli shouted. "Leave me  _alone_! Mahal's beard, I've had  _enough_  of your hovering today!"

Kíli stood stock still, staring at his brother, holding his arm against his chest as if he had been burned. His gaze flickered from Fíli to the Men, who were very pointedly not looking at the princes now. He looked back to Fíli. His brother's chest was heaving, his eyes shining.

"I'm just trying to help," Kíli said, hating that his voice quivered slightly.

"I don't  _want_  your help!" Fíli spat. "I just wanted to be  _alone_ , just until this evening, and you make me come out here—you make me talk to people—you should know by now that I don't want this! And yet you always do it! I am not you, so stop acting like I am! Leave me  _alone_!"

Anger welled up in Kíli's gut. He  _knew_  Fíli was not him, that Fíli needed different things, but he also knew that Fíli's habit of locking himself away was not healthy. Why couldn't his brother see that?

"Why are you always like this?" he shouted back. "You can't just sit in your room and  _wallow_  every time you're feeling—"

"Shut up! Just shut up, Kíli!" Fíli interrupted, taking a step back and glancing warily at the Men still in the room. "It isn't anybody's business what I'm feeling but my own!"

"That isn't true and you know it," Kíli argued.

"I just want to be left alone," said Fíli, pressing his hands together beseechingly. "Just for a few hours. Just leave me be. Are you at least capable of that?"

"Fíli—"

"It isn't your duty to babysit me, brother."

"But  _Fíli_ —"

"For once in your life, Kíli,  _shut up_  and listen to what someone else wants for a change!" Fíli cried, throwing his hands in the air.

Kíli flinched. A moment later, anger boiled inside him again, and he set his jaw against his brother.

"Fine," he said coldly. "Be by yourself, then. I can leave you alone. I'll leave right now. Good luck being alone."

"Good," Fíli said, his tone matching Kíli's. "Then go."

Kíli hesitated for a moment, but when Fíli shooed him like a wayward child, he did not wait any longer. He stalked off. If he wanted to be like that, then fine. He had only been trying to help, and if this was the thanks he got—in front of Men!—he would leave his brother to his misery.

* * *

Fíli was not ready. He was not sure he would be ready for this. Not today.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Fíli swallowed. His stomach churned; he felt sick and uncomfortable.  _Nerves_ , he told himself. There was no reason to be nervous, but he could not deny what he was feeling. It was that dream, that damned dream, that had done him in for the day.

And then Kíli had not made it any better with his hovering. After some solitude and some calming tea, Fíli could acknowledge that his brother was right, that he needed to talk to people and get ready for the day, but he had not wanted any of it. He just wanted to lie in bed and forget everything for a while, but that was not going to happen.

_Knock, knock._

Fíli looked up to the door and sighed. That would be Kíli.

"Come in," he called. He peered into the mirror, making sure his crown was properly situated on his head and that his braids were not caught in it. Kíli appeared behind him in his reflection, smiling.

"You look just fine, Dori," he said.

"Oi!" Fíli protested. "I'm not  _that_  fussy."

"If you say so," Kíli said casually. He laid his hands on Fíli's shoulders and pressed down. "You ready?"

Fíli met Kíli's eyes in the mirror and frowned. Kíli's grin disappeared.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he said. "I didn't mean to be… overbearing. I just wanted to help."

"I know," Fíli said. He shook his head and offered his brother a wan smile. "It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"All right," Kíli said, smiling again. "Let's do this, then."

Fíli's stomach turned again, and he pressed his palm against it and looked up at Kíli's reflection beseechingly.

"What if I just said I wasn't feeling well?" he said. "Then I wouldn't have to go…"

"I'm pretty sure you'd have to be dying, Fee," Kíli said. "And Mum would check."

"I suppose you're right," Fíli grumbled. He adjusted his sleeves and swallowed again. This was his duty. He was the heir to the throne. He could not skip out on a dinner like this—especially since it concerned the future of Erebor and all the kingdoms of Middle-Earth. Things discussed tonight would carry well over into his own reign. It would be irresponsible not to go, and his uncle would certainly not be pleased in the slightest.

"Well, come on, then," Kíli said, squeezing his brother's shoulders lightly. "Might as well get started."

Fíli nodded and rose, and his stomach lurched again. He grimaced and took a steadying breath. Just nerves. He could do this. He followed Kíli to the great hall, far from their own quarters towards the entrance to the mountain. They walked in silence, and as they went, the churning in Fíli's stomach grew worse and worse, but he ignored it—if he ignored it, maybe it would go away.

They could hear the hubbub from the great hall before they reached it—the mingled voices of Dwarves, Men, and Elves, all together in one place. As Fíli and Kíli entered the room, Fíli suddenly felt small. Men and Elves towered above them, even over Kíli, who was quite tall for a Dwarf. The first to approach them was King Thranduil; he looked down at them coolly and dipped his head, and Fíli and Kíli did the same.

"Welcome to Erebor, King Thranduil," Fíli said cordially, knowing his part. "I hope everything so far has been to your liking."

"The halls are impressive, as always," Thranduil replied, his voice even and lofty. "The wine I have found… lacking."

Fíli took a deep breath and swallowed down the bad taste in his mouth, fighting the urge to adjust his sleeves again. He smiled tightly.

"We thank you for your compliments on the state of the mountain," he said, "but we can only do so much to compare with the fabled Dorwinion wine of your realm. I hope the food at least is satisfactory at dinner."

"So do I," said Thranduil.

"It is good to see you taking an interest in the fate of Middle-Earth, my lord," Kíli said. Thranduil's eyes widened, and Fíli pinched Kíli's arm to wipe the stupid smile off his brother's face. He nodded hastily to Thranduil.

"Excuse us, my lord—there are many others to greet here tonight," he said, dragging Kíli away.

"What?" Kíli whispered as they left Thranduil steaming behind them. "At least I didn't say 'for once.'"

"You may as well have," Fíli hissed. "He knew exactly what you meant."

"I was counting on it," said Kíli, his voice wavering with suppressed laughter.

Fíli sighed and rolled his eyes. He stopped and faced his brother, who was grinning in a very undignified fashion.

"Need I remind you that what we are doing here tonight is  _very_  important?" said Fíli. "If it is true that the Dark Lord has returned, we will need  _every_  kingdom working together to make sure he does not prevail. This is our part. Thranduil is easy to offend. We cannot afford to not have his army on our side."

"As if he would side with Sauron," Kíli retorted. "Honestly, Fíli, he may not work with us, but he would fight against the Dark Lord…"

"If you recall,  _brother_ , he almost  _didn't_  last time," Fíli snapped. "Unless you have forgotten the battle we fought eighteen years ago. Now behave."

Kíli sobered finally and nodded.

"Sorry," he said. His gaze moved behind and above Fíli, who turned to see two Men approaching, one tall and dark-haired with quick, sharp eyes and the other shorter and older, his own dark hair streaked with grey. Fíli quickly adjusted his stance, making sure he looked friendly.

"Welcome to Erebor," he said, nodding. "I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting."

"Indeed, we have not," said the younger of the two, smiling. He bowed his head, as did the elder. "I am Denethor, son of Ecthelion of Gondor, and this is Beren, also of Gondor."

"A noble name," Kíli said to Beren.

Beren smiled. "Too noble for the likes of me, I guarantee you," he said.

"Ecthelion the Steward?" Fíli said, addressing Denethor. "You're the son of the Steward of Gondor, then?"

"I am," Denethor replied, looking pleased. "I am here as his representative."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance," Fíli said. "It is regrettable that your father could not come, but I am glad that he sent you in his stead."

"Tell me, Denethor, is it true that you have seen fire from beyond the Mountains of Shadow in Minas Tirith?" asked Kíli.

Denethor's smile faded, and he nodded seriously. "It is true. I have seen the flames myself. My father is very troubled."

"It was his idea to call this meeting in the first place, after all," Beren added. "And Erebor was naturally an excellent place to hold such a meeting, what with it being so far north, well away from Mordor."

"I remember getting word," Fíli said. "Well, I saw the letter to my uncle. We are glad to be of any assistance. Speaking of my uncle, have either of you seen him?"

"I believe he was over there speaking to some of the Rohirrim," Beren said, gesturing towards the table of refreshments. Fíli swallowed as he looked that way; it was the two blond Men and their dark-haired companion from lunch who had so pointedly not looked at him when he shouted at his brother. They would remember him and his outburst, and it was certainly not a good first impression. Well, he still needed to talk to Thorin, and it would seem cowardly if he avoided them for the rest of the time they were here. He had to greet them formally at some point.

"Please excuse me, my lord Denethor, Beren," he said, nodding politely and leaving the Men and Kíli. As he made his way towards his uncle and the Rohirrim, the dark-haired one parted from his friends and headed Fíli's way; tall as he was, he seemed not to notice Fíli until he was nearly on top of him and bumped right into him. Fíli stumbled, and the Man took hold of him suddenly.

"Pardon me, my lord," he said, his grey eyes settling on Fíli filled with remorse. "I did not mean to offend."

Fíli smiled kindly, wondering where the Man was from—he sounded like one of the Rangers from back home near Ered Luin, but it was quite far for one of their kind to come. "It was an accident, er…"

"Thorongil," the Man offered. "I am in the service of King Thengel."

"It was an accident, Thorongil," said Fíli. "It's fine."

Thorongil smiled and nodded respectfully. "Well then, if you will excuse me, my lord…"

Fíli stepped out of the way, and Thorongil breezed by, seemingly in a hurry to wherever he was off to next. Chuckling, Fíli shook his head and approached Thorin and the two blond Rohirrim. When the Men saw him coming, they bowed respectfully and took their leave, looking mildly uncomfortable. Fíli blushed.

"Hello, Fíli," said Thorin, smiling affectionately as his nephew joined him. He smiled much more these days. "How are you?"

"Honestly, I have been better," Fíli admitted quietly.

Thorin's cerulean eyes softened. "Bad night?"

Fíli nodded. "And my stomach feels awful…"

Thorin took hold of Fíli's shoulder and squeezed. "You will be fine, lad," he said. "We have met with such people before, and you have done well. There is no need to be nervous."

"Aye, I know," Fíli said, peering out at the crowd. Besides Thranduil and his delegation, there were no other Elves, the only ones who truly looked down upon Dwarves; the Men were sometimes distrustful, but they did not have a history with the Dwarves of Erebor like Thranduil did. The Men of Dale were there as well, but they got along well with both the Dwarves of Erebor and of the Iron Hills these days. Trade was good. There was no need to be nervous around these Men.

"They are so young," Fíli commented. "I think that lad who just bumped into me wasn't yet thirty."

"You may be right," said Thorin, surveying the crowd himself. "Many of them are under fifty, it seems. And they consider them capable and ready for such things at such a young age…"

"They don't live as long as we do, though," said Fíli. "I suppose they must mature more quickly."

Thorin chuckled. "I don't think your brother is mature yet at the age of ninety-five."

Fíli smiled and attempted to hold in his laughter, looking over at his brother animatedly talking to Denethor and Beren.

"He just has a carefree spirit," he said. "I don't think he will ever truly seem mature. Not the way we are, anyway."

"I suppose so," Thorin mused, watching his younger nephew. He turned his gaze back to Fíli and squeezed his shoulder again. "You'll be all right tonight?"

Fíli sighed and shrugged. "I suppose so. I'll have to."

"Eat something light to settle your stomach," Thorin suggested. He gestured to the table full of refreshments beside him. "Some crackers, perhaps. We have a long night and a long day tomorrow ahead of us."

"All right," Fíli said. Thorin patted him on the back, and Fíli departed to get himself a few crackers. He scooped up some and set them on a plate, moved to a quiet corner, and then sat down to watch the commingling companies. Mirkwood Elves, Men from Dale, Gondor, and Rohan, Dwarves from home and the Iron Hills, all united under the Lonely Mountain. Twenty years ago, he would never have thought this possible. But here it was, happening in their own home. Stressed as he was, it made him feel good. If they could stay united, there could be a long-lasting peace—especially if they kept the Dark Lord at bay before he ever rose against them.

An Elf with auburn hair approached him then, breaking through his thoughts. He looked down at Fíli with a familiar but irritatingly Elven stare—one could never know what Elves were thinking. Fíli blinked up at him, chewing.

"My apologies, Prince Fíli," the Elf said. "My name is Fingolas. I could not help but overhear that you were feeling poorly."

Fíli felt heat creeping into his cheeks. Damn Elves and their superior hearing. He swallowed and attempted to say something, but he stumbled on his words and merely made a strange noise of assent.

"I am a healer," Fingolas explained as he pulled something out of a bag he had on his shoulder, "and I may have something that can help your stomach, if you would like it."

Fíli blinked. "I would love it," he said.

Fingolas smiled and handed over a large tablet; Fíli took it and looked at it curiously.

"You simply chew it and swallow it," he said. "It should settle your stomach quickly."

"Thank you," Fíli said. "I appreciate this very much."

Fingolas's smile broke into a toothy grin then. "You are very welcome, Prince Fíli. Anything to help our hosts." Then, before Fíli could say another word, he bowed and disappeared back into the crowd.

Fíli furrowed his brow and looked through the crowd, marveling at how quickly the Elf had disappeared. Then, giving up, he looked down at the tablet in his hand. The Elves had helped with the medicine that had let him sleep peacefully after the battle; he had no reason to believe that this would not work as well. He put it in his mouth and chewed and swallowed, and miraculously, within a minute, his stomach had settled almost completely. He closed his eyes and smiled. He still did not exactly  _like_  Elves, but he certainly felt much more appreciative of them than he had when he was younger. They weren't so bad after all, it seemed.

"Fíli!"

Fíli opened his eyes again, searching for whoever had called him. He spotted him waving from a little distance away and grinned broadly—Bain! The young boy was now a young man, and he had grown into his role as prince of Dale well, having the same humble beginnings Fíli had known growing up in the Blue Mountains. They had become fast friends in the past years, and Bain visited often. Bard— _King_  Bard—was surely around here somewhere, but Fíli would look for him later. With his unease partially settled, Fíli was ready to socialize again. Kíli was right. If he was going to have to speak to all these people, he might as well speak to some people he liked.

* * *

Fíli had never seen so many people in the grand dining room. They had had many people over the years, but this was quite the special occasion, with Free Peoples from six different kingdoms represented. It was surely a momentous occasion, and Thorin made the most of it—in fact, Fíli was glad that the food was not served until after his uncle's speech; if it had been delivered before, the food certainly would have gone cold. He could not remember anything past the first ten minutes, himself, and he marveled that his cousins from the Iron Hills had not died of starvation waiting for their meal.

Fíli was feeling good. The uncomfortable sick feeling had passed, and time in Bain and Kíli's company had eased his nerves. He was actually starting to enjoy himself. Though they had attempted to spread out the royal family and other Dwarves of Erebor among all the tables, Thorin had let Fíli and Kíli sit together. He knew how Fíli was feeling, and with a talker like Kíli at his table, if he needed to withdraw for a moment, there would be no offenses given to the others at their table—Beren of Gondor, Bain, two brown-haired Elves from Thranduil's kingdom named Ithiliel and Anardil, a Man from Rohan named Déorwine, and a dark-eyed dwarrowdam from the Iron Hills neither Fíli nor Kíli had met before named Elís. The group spoke easily together, and Kíli kept them all laughing with stories.

The first course was a small Elvish soup paired with a white wine. Fíli thought the soup was quite delicious, but Kíli whispered in his ear that he thought it was dreadful and only ate a bite or two. Then came a Gondorian salad with fruits and nuts in it that everyone enjoyed, even the Dwarves—though Fíli spied Dwalin looking sadly at the lack of meat on his plate and had to stifle a laugh. The main course was Dwarvish, of course: plenty of meat, root vegetables, and potatoes with onions and garlic. It was hearty and delicious, and Fíli was eager to dig in after the small first and second courses. These Elves and Men did not know how to  _eat_.

It was at the end of the third course that Fíli's stomach began to churn painfully once again. He tried to ignore it at first, but the pain only grew; by the time they were done with their course, Fíli was bending with pain. Kíli noticed his brother's discomfort as their plates were whisked away and put a hand on his back.

"Fíli, are you all right?" he whispered, watching the group around them. Fíli looked up as well; the Men and Elves were caught up in conversation still, but Elís was watching them carefully. Fíli averted his eyes.

"Just a stomachache," Fíli whispered back. "I'm not sure I can eat much more."

"We haven't even had that much," said Kíli. "Are you sure everything is all right?"

Fíli nodded, catching Elís's stare again. "Just let me be," he said. "I'll be fine."

But he wasn't fine. When the fourth course came out—a Rohirric dessert—Fíli could barely stand to look at it. He could feel his heart beating uncomfortably in his chest. When he reached for his spoon, his hands seemed reluctant to obey him. His stomach lurched, and he reached quickly for his water and gulped it down. Why could he not stop salivating, even though he was not hungry? He swallowed for what seemed like the thousandth time that day and bowed his head, pressing a hand to his stomach. Kíli touched his back again.

"Fíli?"

"I can't do it, Kíli," he whispered urgently.

"Can't do what?"

Fíli turned around in his seat and vomited on the floor.

The room grew silent as Fíli sat bent over double, tremors passing through him, his head between his knees. His face was burning with shame.  _In front of all these people. They all saw it. You've ruined everyone's dinner. This is how they will all remember you._

"Come on, Fíli, let's go," Kíli said from somewhere far away. He felt his brother's arms wrap around him, and then he was being lifted to his feet; he stumbled awkwardly, keeping his head bowed. His stomach hurt  _so_  badly… Kíli helped him along, but his feet felt like big wooden blocks. He groaned as another tremor went through his body. Where was Kíli taking him? No one would want to eat now. His stomach lurched again, and he gagged, but nothing came up. Kíli pulled him away faster, and soon they were out of the grand dining room; Fíli felt himself being lowered into a chair, and he slouched into it, his eyes closed.

"Blimey, Fee, why didn't you say anything sooner?" Kíli said over the constant beat in his ears. "If you were feeling  _that_  badly, Uncle would've let you stay in bed…"

"Wasn't this bad earlier," Fíli replied, panting. He forced his eyes open; Kíli was looking at him with wide eyes. He let his eyes slip closed again and let out another groan. His limbs felt like they were slowly being wrapped in lead. Another tremor shook him.

"Can I help?" said a feminine voice that Fíli recognized as Elís. He grimaced. He didn't want anyone he didn't know near him right now.

"Thank you," said Kíli, "but I don't think Fíli—"

"I'm a nurse," Elís interrupted. "I would be glad to help. Your brother looks quite poorly."

A sharp pain passed through Fíli's gut then, and he cried out involuntarily, clutching his stomach. He had never felt anything like this in his entire life. He wondered if he was dying. His heart was beating in his ears, and his lips and fingers were beginning to tingle as if they had fallen asleep.

"Fine," Kíli said. "Help me get him somewhere more private, then, please."

A moment later, two sets of arms were around Fíli pulling him up, and he stumbled along, wanting nothing more than to lie down and curl into a ball. After far too much walking for his liking, finally they reached a small room and set him down on a couch. Immediately he lay down and drew up his knees, clutching his stomach, tremors coursing through him again and again. Kíli took the crown off his head while Elís set a bowl on the floor beside him.

"Fíli?" called Kíli, resting a hand on Fíli's shoulder. "Tell me what's going on, brother."

Fíli shook his head, pressing his lips together as nausea rose in him again. He leaned over the edge of the couch and vomited into the bowl until there was nothing left in his stomach but bile and then rolled over, breathing heavily.

"Elís?" Kíli said. Fíli could hear the alarm in his voice. Guilt shot through him painfully—his brother should not have to worry about him like this. Why did he seem constantly unable to take care of himself? This was not fit behavior for the heir to the throne.

A gentle hand touched Fíli's forehead, and he opened his eyes to see Elís's dark brown gaze peering down at him. She smiled reassuringly.

"Prince Fíli, can you tell me what you are feeling?" she asked.

"My stomach hurts," Fíli said. "My whole body feels heavy and slow, like it doesn't want to move… and I can hear my heart beating… fingers and face feel like they've fallen asleep…"

Elís pressed two fingers against Fíli's throat and looked out at nothing, and after about half a minute, she frowned and looked back down at Fíli.

"Do you feel lightheaded at all?" she asked.

Fíli paused as another infuriating tremor went through him. "I-I'm lying down—I don't know."

"His heart is beating about half as quickly as it should be," Elís said, looking up at Kíli. "Where is your apothecary?"

"Óin? He's down at the dinner still, I would think," Kíli said, his eyes darting from Elís to Fíli and back. "Should I get him?"

"Aye, I think you should," Elís said gravely. "I don't think your brother is sick, Prince Kíli."

"Of course he is sick," Kíli argued, gesturing at Fíli. "Look at him!"

Elís looked down at Fíli nervously. "What I mean is that he has not simply fallen ill," she said. "I think he has been poisoned."


	2. Panic

_Poisoned._  Kíli felt all the blood drain out of his face. Who? Why? When? He looked from Elís to Fíli in horror, and then his heart missed a beat. Fíli was looking back at him with wide, shining eyes, his breaths coming quickly and his entire body shaking.

"Oh, no, no, no, Fíli, no," he said, moving the bowl of Fíli's sick out of the way and kneeling beside the couch. He took his brother's hands in his own. "Don't panic. We can figure this out. Look at me, Fee. We will figure it out."

"W-why would someone—why would they—what did I do?" Fíli asked, his voice high and fearful. "I haven't done anything to anyone, why would someone… oh, it hurts." Fíli curled up again, pressing his forehead into Kíli's arm. "It hurts… someone is trying to  _kill_  me…"

"We don't know that," Kíli said, squeezing Fíli's hands. He looked up to Elís. "I'll need you to get Óin. I can't leave him like this."

"I'm sorry," Elís said, taking a step back. "I shouldn't have said it with him right there."

"You're bloody telling me," Kíli snapped. "Get Óin."

"I don't know what he looks like," Elís said, her voice holding an edge it didn't have before.

Kíli rolled his eyes whipped around, exasperated. "Grey hair, forked and braided beard, ear trumpet," he said. "Now  _go_."

Elís opened her mouth to say something else, but Kíli's glare stopped her before she began.

"Hurry  _up_!" he shouted.

Elís rushed out of the room, and Kíli turned his attention back to his brother. Fíli's grip on Kíli's hands was weak, and he kept his head against Kíli's arm. A violent tremor went through him.

"I thought I was safe," Fíli said tearfully. "I thought everything would be all right now."

Kíli's stomach twisted painfully and he bit his lip. He had no response for that.

"Hold on, brother," he said. "Help is on the way."

But Fíli was not comforted. His breathing was getting harsher, and he began to gag; Kíli reached for the used bowl and set it beside the couch, but Fíli had nothing left in his stomach to expel but some bile. After heaving fruitlessly for a while, he lay back on the couch, exhausted and wild-eyed. Kíli rubbed his brother's arm comfortingly and looked towards the door.

A minute or two later, Óin came bustling in with Elís in his wake and took Kíli's place beside the elder prince. Kíli stood back next to Elís while Óin looked Fíli over, quietly asking him questions.

"I only told Óin," Elís whispered. "I didn't know if I should tell anyone else."

"Of course you shouldn't," Kíli replied, watching his brother. "You've done enough damage already."

" _Excuse_  me, but I am a nurse, Prince Kíli," Elís retorted. Kíli did not look at her. "I think I am qualified to determine what is ailing someone."

"Well, you bloody well made a mess of it," said Kíli, turning sharp eyes on her. "Fíli was already having a bad day, and now he's sick and thinks he's been poisoned."

"I'm very sure he has been poisoned," Elís snapped.

"Well, I'm glad Fíli knows that now," Kíli said. "But thank you for not making it any worse than you already have, I suppose."

With an affronted look, Elís turned on her heel and left the room.  _Good,_  Kíli thought. One less person to deal with right now. He approached Óin and Fíli and looked down at the two of them. Óin was measuring the pulse in Fíli's wrist and frowning, and Fíli was lying on his side, one arm wrapped around his torso, taking careful, controlled breaths.

"Nála," Fíli said, looking up at Kíli desperately. "Can you find Nála?"

Kíli looked to Óin for approval, who rose and stepped aside, drawing Kíli with him.

"I believe Elís was right," Óin said. "The symptoms are more than just illness. He has almost surely been poisoned."

Kíli looked from Óin to Fíli, his heart sinking. "Will he die?"

"I cannot tell," Óin replied. "I do not know what he has been poisoned with."

Kíli bowed his head and took a controlled breath. He had to remain calm. He looked back up at Óin. "Can you give him anything to help him?"

Óin frowned and shook his head. "I wouldn't give him anything else until we know what he's already got in him," he said. "I could make it worse. The only thing I could do is make him vomit, if it's something he ate or drank, but he's already done that."

"Well then, what do we do?" Kíli asked.

"Find out how he got poisoned," said Óin. "If we know what the poison is, I can try to counteract it."

"Kíli, please," Fíli called from the couch, his voice cracking.

Kíli bit his lip and looked between his brother and his cousin. He had to solve this. His brother's life could depend on it. But he also needed to tell Thorin—it was surely a visitor to the mountain who had done this—and if Fíli wanted Nála, Kíli would find her. He nodded seriously.

"I'll set up an investigation," he said.

"Hurry, Kíli," said Óin, and Kíli ran.

* * *

It was when Kíli came striding back into the dining room with a grave look on his face that Thorin knew something was truly wrong. His nephew did not look at a single Dwarf, Man, or Elf save for Thorin, and when he reached him, he bent down and rested a hand on Thorin's shoulder, leaning in close to his ear.

"Fíli has been poisoned," he whispered.

Thorin felt a boulder drop in his gut. " _What_?" he growled, looking up at Kíli. Kíli looked back with shining eyes, a deep frown across his face. Then he leaned in again.

"We do not know how or with what," he said. "But Fíli is in a lot of pain. I'm going to organize an investigation."

Thorin nodded curtly, his gaze now roving over the Men and Elves in his dining room. Who had done this? What was their goal? The thought that Fíli might die because of one of the strangers in his mountain stirred a fire of rage in his gut. How  _dare_  they?

"Tell Dwalin to seal the gates," he said in a low voice. "Take him and Balin with you. And make sure Nála knows."

"I will," Kíli said. Then, with a pat on Thorin's shoulder, Kíli ran off to get Balin and Dwalin from their respective tables. Thorin watched them go; others had noticed now as well, and as soon as they were out of the room, he stood. All eyes turned to him.

"Someone here in this mountain tonight is false," he said.

A quiet murmur followed his statement, but Thorin held up his hands to quiet the room again. He surveyed the faces around him, searching for a sign of suspicion among his guests. His gaze settled on Thranduil, who looked back at him coolly, his chin raised. Thorin stared at him as he spoke.

"My nephew Fíli, Crown Prince and my heir, has been poisoned," he said. "Until the culprit is found, none of you will leave this mountain."

As Thorin expected, an outcry followed this statement, and he waited for the noise to die down. Bard rose from his seat.

"You cannot suspect that one of my people would have poisoned your nephew, my lord!" he said. "Is there not friendship between my people and yours? And my son is great friends with Prince Fíli!"

"And yet my nephew is in great pain at this very moment due to the deeds of someone here," Thorin replied. "I do not suspect you personally, my lord, but I cannot say the same for all in this room. Until this is resolved, no one may leave."

Bard grimaced and sat down again. Thranduil spoke up next.

"What benefit would any party here obtain from poisoning Prince Fíli?" he said, his cool gaze fixed on Thorin. "We are here for a common purpose. There is no need to make accusations."

"I have made no accusations against any party in particular," said Thorin evenly, crossing his arms and glaring back. "Though some of us have been known to be disinterested in the fate of those not of their own kind."

Thranduil's eyes widened, and his jaw shifted.

"You would  _dare_  accuse me of such a thing?" he said tightly. "What will you do, then? Throw us all in your dungeons? You would treat us as prisoners?"

"Perhaps that would be fitting for some," Thorin snapped.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "You would imprison your guests over a false accusation?"

"I seem to recall being imprisoned for less," Thorin retorted.

"Please, my lords," said Thorongil, rising from his seat. "King Thranduil is right—we are here for a common purpose. Let us remember that. If the Dark Lord is indeed rising again, we will need everyone to work together."

"And yet someone here has deliberately harmed my kin," Thorin said, turning his gaze towards the young Ranger. "I  _will_  find out who has done this, and until then, this mountain is sealed. In the meantime, you will be all be well cared for. But when I discover who is responsible, the punishment will be harsh indeed." He looked out over the now-silent crowd full of stricken faces. "Dinner is dismissed. Excuse me."

Thorin signaled for two guards in the room to follow him and started quickly towards the exit. Immediately the crowd erupted in talk. He did not care. Let them say what they would—no one would get away with poisoning his nephew. Peace talks could wait until Fíli was safe and the culprit was found.

"Thorin! Thorin, wait!" called Dís from behind him. He slowed slightly and waited for her to catch up. She took hold of his arm and walked beside him.

"Are you going to see him now?" she said anxiously.

"Aye."

"Do you think someone is trying to kill him?"

Thorin rested his hand over hers. "I do not know," he said. "But we will find out."

* * *

The room Dís entered was a den of chaos. Balin was shouting, Óin was shouting back, and Fíli was curled on his side on a couch, his eyes wild and his chest heaving, for the moment ignored by the other two Dwarves in the room.

"Good gracious, what is the  _matter_  with you two?" she cried, letting go of her brother and rushing to Fíli's side. His eyes followed her as she approached him and sat down on the couch, and he latched his hands into her skirt as soon as she was close enough to touch. Óin and Balin both stopped shouting and looked to their invalid kin.

"We can't calm him down," Balin said tightly. "Nothing helps."

"And he keeps trying to ask him questions anyway!" Óin said, casting a glare at his cousin. "It will not work!"

"And yet neither of you were paying attention to him when I entered the room," Dís replied, glaring at both of them furiously. They had the good sense to look sheepish. She turned her attention to her eldest, taking one of his hands in her own and gently stroking his face. He looked up at her with shining eyes. She could see the tear tracks on his cheeks.

"I don't know what I did," he said, his voice high and panicked. "I didn't do anything, I don't know why someone would do this to me, Mum, I didn't  _do_  anything!"

"Hush, my love," Dís said calmly. "Of course you didn't do anything. We know that."

"But why?" Fíli said. "I don't understand…"

"I know, darling, and neither do I," she said. "But maybe we can find out. Can you answer Balin's questions?"

Fíli closed his eyes for a few moments. A tremor went through his hands, and he gritted his teeth, letting out a tearful sound. Dís took hold of his face.

"Look at me, Fíli," she said firmly. He opened his eyes obediently and looked at her. "We are going to help you, but we need to know some things first. Can you please answer Balin's questions?"

"But I don't  _know_  anything," Fíli argued, his gaze moving to Balin. His breath caught in his throat as a wave of pain visibly passed through him.

"Just answer the best you can, all right?" she said softly. "Look at me and take some deep breaths."

Fíli did as he was told. After slowly breathing in and out a few times, he seemed calmer, and he looked to Balin expectantly. Dís let go of his face and took his hand again.

"I'm glad you're here, Dís," Thorin muttered beside her. "I'm not sure anyone else could do that."

"At least until Nála gets here," Dís whispered back. She would always be there for her boys, and she knew that she brought Fíli some peace, but Nála complemented him so well and understood him so deeply. Though part of her longed to always be the greatest source of comfort for her son, she was glad that he had Nála. She could remember how much comfort she had found in Jóli.

"Has anyone threatened you lately, laddie?" Balin asked.

Fíli shook his head.

Balin pursed his lips and looked up at Dís, who raised her eyebrows. He had answered; he did not need to speak. Balin looked back to Fíli.

"What have you eaten?" he asked next.

"Uh," Fíli said, closing his eyes, "I had a meal by the Rohirric cook for lunch… and then what everyone else had for dinner."

"No breakfast?" prompted Thorin.

Fíli shook his head again. "Stayed in my room," he mumbled.

"Fíli!"

At that voice, Fíli opened his eyes and looked about desperately for its source. Dís looked up to see Nála, her freckled face fraught with concern, running to Fíli's side and leaving Kíli behind. She knelt beside the couch, and immediately Fíli buried his face in her bright red hair and wrapped his arms around her. She responded in kind, holding his head against her with one hand and using the other to rub his back as he shuddered.

"Nála, take my place," Dís said, standing up. "You'll be much more comfortable on the couch."

At first, Nála did not reply; she simply pressed her chin against his shoulder as his grip on her tightened. Then she kissed his cheek.

"Fíli, my love, let me go for a moment," she whispered.

After a moment's hesitation, he let go, and she pulled herself up and sat down where Dís had been. She smiled tremblingly and took his hands in her own.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Terrible," Fíli said. "But better now."

Dís heard a quiet snort from Kíli, who had stepped up beside her. She pressed her lips together to hide a knowing smile of her own.

"Fíli," said Balin, "did you eat anything else today?"

Fíli's gaze shifted from Nála to Balin, and he furrowed his brow as he thought.

"You had a chocolate from that basket before lunch," Kíli said. He looked from Fíli to Balin. "Do you think that would be enough to poison him?"

"It could be," Balin said. "But if it was, it took a long time to take effect. Did anyone approach you today, Fíli? Did anything out of the ordinary happen?"

Fíli groaned and shifted so that his head rested against Nála's knee. "Everything that happened today was out of the ordinary," he grumbled. "Oh, my stomach… where's that bowl…"

Kíli quickly handed over a clean bowl just in time before Fíli began to heave. Barely anything came up. When he was finished, he closed his eyes and dropped back against the couch, breathing harshly. Dís looked to Thorin, who was staring at his nephew with alarm.

"Why would someone do this to me?" Fíli moaned.

"We should bring him to his chambers," Thorin said. "It is safer deeper within the mountain, and I do not want anyone else near him that I do not trust."

Dís raised an eyebrow at her brother. "How are we going to get him there?" she asked. "You saw him leave the dining room—he could barely walk."

Thorin turned to Óin. "Do we have a litter we can carry him on?"

"Yes," Óin replied. "Kíli, come with me."

The two of them left immediately, and Thorin peered out into the hall after them. He shut the doors and sat down in another chair in the room, his eyes fixed on Fíli. Dís knelt beside the couch and kissed her son on the forehead. He opened his eyes for a moment, and she smiled, but he simply closed his eyes again. She stroked his hair gently and looked up at Nála.

_Is he going to die?_  Nála signed.

Dís bit her lip and shrugged. There was no way to know that for sure now, but the thought of losing Fíli was too much to allow herself to think about. Nála took one of his hands and kissed it, and Dís felt a deep ache in her chest. She remembered losing Jóli; that pain was still very real to her, ninety-three years later—she had never stopped counting—but at least she had been able to marry him, live with him, have children with him. Nála was afraid that she would lose Fíli before she ever had that chance. Dís could see it. She wondered briefly if that would have been easier.

"The Elf," Fíli said suddenly, opening his eyes. He looked to Balin. "Fingolas, I think. He gave me something—some kind of medicine…"

"And you just took it?" Thorin said critically. "From an  _Elf_?"

"My stomach was upset," Fíli said defensively, though he shrank a little. "I told you that. He said it would help—and it did."

"Seems worse to me," Thorin commented. He looked to Nála. "Nála, you are in charge of hospitality… does the name Fingolas sound familiar?"

Nála thought for a few moments, stroking Fíli's hand absentmindedly. Then she nodded.

"The room to the left of the grand chamber in the Elves' wing," she said. "I remember—he was an important one."

Thorin's eyes shifted quickly to Balin. "Find that Elf and detain him."

"Aye," Balin replied. "Fíli, can you think of anything else suspicious? Anything at all?"

"I don't  _know_ ," Fíli replied testily.

Balin sighed, but he took off anyway. Fíli seemed calmer without all the people around him; the only ones left now were Thorin, Dís, and Nála, and for several long minutes, the room was silent. Finally, Kíli and Óin returned with a litter, and they helped a frighteningly limp Fíli onto it. Thorin sent the guard he had posted at the door to clear the way, and they started off on the long walk to the inner chambers of the mountain where the royal family lived in safety. Dís took Nála's hand and squeezed; they followed behind, hand-in-hand.

Fear was spreading in Dís's chest like a frost, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm—if not for her own sake, then for Nála's. Balin and Dwalin would find whoever had done this. They would bring the perpetrator to justice. And Óin would figure something out before they lost Fíli. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing: Nála! I decided to write this fic before I wrote the fic that introduces her properly, so I'm sorry about that... one day you'll see that in writing, I am sure. It's a great story. For now, I'll give her a brief introduction. Nála grew up in the Blue Mountains with Fíli and Kíli, and is between them in age—3 years younger than Fíli. Her younger brother, Flán (who you might remember from the end of The Ghost of Erebor and Nalbal's The Mark of Gideon) is one of Kíli's best friends, and a great friend to Fíli as well. It wasn't until after Nála arrived in Erebor that Fíli truly considered her, but now they're engaged and waiting for Nála to turn 100 so they can marry. (My headcanon is that there is a royal tradition that Dwarves of the court don't marry until age 100; the only exception to this was when they were in exile—Dís and Glóin both married and had children before proper marrying age. Fíli thinks it shouldn't apply to him because of the unique circumstances of his upbringing, but that's Thorin and Balin for you.) So please love her because she is great.


	3. Investigation, Part One

Balin stalked through the green marble corridors of the mountain, his mind stirring with questions and suspicions. Why would someone poison Fíli? He was one of the most inoffensive Dwarves in the mountain; Balin could not think of any way the lad could have offended anyone. It was out of his character. Either someone wanted the heir to the throne of Erebor incapacitated—or dead—or this was a distraction to keep peace talks from moving forward. Balin pressed his lips together grimly. He suspected the latter, and he knew Thorin. If that was the culprit's plan, it was already working.

Balin rounded a corner and nearly walked right into Dwalin, who had four guards in his wake. He jumped back, startled; Dwalin halted, as did the guards behind him. With a quick look, Balin had Dwalin following him back to the room where Fíli had just been. They all filed in, and Balin shut the doors behind them and turned to face the group. He locked eyes with Dwalin.

"They've taken Fíli to his chambers," he said. "They will keep him safe as they can there. Our task is to round up suspects." He looked to the guards. "Detain all cooks that were in the kitchen today—Dwarf, Man, or Elf. Inform them that we are seeking information and that they are not necessarily suspects."

"But are they?" Dwalin asked. "Was it in his food?"

Balin shook his head. "I do not know," he replied. "But it is a good starting point." He waved in dismissal to the guards, and they took off on their assigned duties. Then he looked to Dwalin. "We are going to detain the Elf named Fingolas. He gave some kind of stomach medicine to Fíli earlier today."

"And he  _took_  it?" Dwalin said, his voice taking on the same critical tone Thorin's had.

"We are not at war with the Elves," Balin said, though he was a bit critical of Fíli's trust in a strange Elf himself. "He was feeling poorly."

"And we may lose him for it," Dwalin growled. "I ought to—"

"I will remind you that we are only bringing him in for questioning," Balin said quickly. "It will do no good to jump to conclusions and start a war when one is already brewing."

Dwalin growled, but he said nothing further. They walked in silence until they reached Fingolas's chambers. Dwalin stood just behind Balin and to the right, his bulging arms crossed, and Balin knocked on the door.

Fingolas opened the door almost immediately and looked down at the two Dwarves, his expression unreadable.

"I was expecting you," he said. "I imagine you would like my help."

Balin could feel Dwalin bristling behind him. He turned his head ever so slightly, reminding Dwalin wordlessly to stay calm. Still, he was offended himself. The  _insolence_  in such a remark… as if they did not have their own healers—and furthermore, as if they trusted the Elves in the first place. He kept on his expertly diplomatic face.

"We would like to ask you some questions," Balin said, taking care to keep suspicion and accusation out of his voice. "If you would please come with us."

Balin thought he caught a flicker of some emotion on the Elf's face, but he could not be sure. Half a moment later, he smiled.

"I would gladly come with you," he said. "Anything to help Prince Fíli."

* * *

 

The room Balin chose for questioning was a comfortable one, a small sitting-room with comfortable chairs and a table. Fingolas sat himself down in one of the chairs, looking perfectly at ease, and Balin felt a twinge of annoyance. Though the Elf's expression gave no evidence of discomfort, it also gave no evidence of worry for Fíli; if he were truly concerned, he could at least  _try_  to look upset. Balin exchanged disgruntled looks with Dwalin, and he could tell that his brother was thinking the same. He sat down opposite Fingolas, and Dwalin remained standing, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers against them.

"And how may I be of assistance to you?" Fingolas asked, smiling placidly.

Balin narrowed his eyes and choked back an angry retort. This was  _his_  interrogation, and this Elf was interrupting before he even got started.

"As you know," he began, "our cousin, Prince Fíli, has been poisoned."

"Yes, so your king says," Fingolas said. He leaned forward in his seat. "May I ask what the symptoms are, besides vomiting?"

Balin considered this for a moment; he supposed it could not hurt Fíli if the Elf knew.

"Stomach pain, muscle weakness, and tingling in the extremities, to name a few," he said.

Fingolas frowned. "That could be any number of things. Are you sure it was poison?"

"His heartbeat is also half its normal speed," Balin added.

Fingolas's expression cleared, and he nodded. "Ah, it does sound like poison, then. Perhaps if I could—?"

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that," Balin said hastily before his brother could let loose his anger. He needed to get a handle on this interrogation. These Elves were too good at drawing the conversation their way, and his annoyance was growing. "We actually wanted to ask you about the medicine you gave Prince Fíli earlier today."

"Yes, for his stomach," said Fingolas. "I overheard that he was nervous and his stomach would not settle, and I thought it would be kind to offer him something to ease his discomfort. It looks like it did not work for long, unfortunately."

"What exactly did you give him?" Balin asked.

"A simple tablet to chew," Fingolas said, looking between Balin and Dwalin. "I promise you, I would not poison your prince. There is peace between our people, and I hold no ill will against you. I merely wished to help."

"Can you produce another tablet like the one you gave to Prince Fíli?" asked Balin.

"Yes," Fingolas said, partially rising; with a glance at Dwalin, he sat back down. "I imagine you wouldn't like me to get it myself."

"A good assumption," Dwalin muttered.

"My satchel is in my room," said Fingolas. "I can show you what I gave to Prince Fíli if it is brought to me."

Balin looked to Dwalin. He nodded and left the room quickly, and Balin looked back to Fingolas, who finally looked mildly upset.

"You must believe that I would not hurt your prince," Fingolas said. "But if he was feeling poorly before I gave him anything, it does seem that he was poisoned earlier in the day."

"You said yourself you overheard that he was nervous," Balin replied. "He is in pain now; he only had discomfort before that related to his emotional state. It is similar, but I cannot see that it is the same."

"Perhaps it was the starting stages," said Fingolas. He held his hands out entreatingly. "If you would let me examine the prince myself—"

"I cannot allow that," Balin interrupted. He sighed. "I appreciate your desire to help, but we cannot rule out any person at this point from suspicion. I hope you know we mean no offense."

"A diplomatic response," Fingolas said with a gleam in his eye.

"I  _am_  a diplomat," Balin replied. He offered an insincere smile.

They sat in silence for several minutes, waiting for Dwalin to return. Balin watched Fingolas carefully. The Elf seemed to be uncomfortable now, and Balin could not say that he was not pleased. Elves were difficult to crack, and he had never really managed it; he had never really needed to. It was a comfort to know that it was not impossible.

Finally Dwalin returned with a satchel, which he gave to Fingolas after a glance at his brother. Fingolas searched through his bag and quickly procured a tablet from a jar. He held it out, and Dwalin took it.

"This is what I gave him," he said. "A mixture of a couple powdered herbs— _mallos_  and a small amount of  _athelas_. It simply eases discomfort in the stomach when it is chewed and swallowed."

Dwalin looked from the tablet to Balin. "How do we know it is the same?" he asked.

"Ask Prince Fíli," Fingolas said. "He can confirm that it is the same."

"It could look the same, but it doesn't mean it  _is_  the same," Balin replied. "But Óin is with Fíli right now... we could ask them both."

"I encourage you to do so," said Fingolas. "As I have said before, I promise you—I did not poison your prince."

Balin looked to Dwalin, who raised his eyebrows as if to say  _What do we have to lose?_  With a sigh, Balin stood up.

"I will go ask the prince," he said. "Dwalin, stay here with our guest."

Fingolas looked to Balin with wide eyes. "I do hope you believe me," he said.

"There are more suspicious suspects at this point," Balin said with another false smile. "If your story is true, you have nothing to fear."

Fingolas leaned back in his chair and nodded, and Balin took the tablet from his brother and left the room, musing. The Elf  _did_  seem innocent... but then again, who knew when it came to Elves? Thranduil himself was particularly maddening, but as far as Balin understood, the Elvenking was much older than many of his subjects, and of a different breed, as well. He would see what Fíli and Óin said.

Balin nodded to the guard at the door and then entered Fíli's room. It was quiet inside. Thorin and Dís were gone, and Kíli sat at Fíli's desk with his feet up, staring out at nothing miserably; Óin had his hand on Fíli's forehead, and Nála sat on the bed at Fíli's side, holding his hand and stroking it. Fíli lay with his eyes closed. Balin frowned.

"Is he asleep?" he asked quietly.

Kíli and Nála both looked up with equal sadness in their eyes. Kíli looked back down as Nála spoke.

"I don't think so," she said. "He's been quiet, but he hasn't really been able to sleep so far..."

"'M awake," Fíli mumbled, his eyes opening slowly. "Hello, Balin."

"Hello, laddie," said Balin. He approached the bed, and Óin stepped out of the way. "How are you feeling?"

Fíli shot a disgruntled look up at Balin and then closed his eyes again. Nála chuckled softly.

"He feels poorly," she said, stroking his forehead. "He has been in quite a bad mood."

Fíli muttered something incoherent, keeping his eyes closed.

"The vomiting has slowed down," Óin said. "It may have stopped, but I cannot be sure as of now."

"We are still searching for a culprit," said Balin. "Hopefully we will have news soon. In fact, that is why I am here. I have been interviewing the Elf, Fingolas, and he says that what he gave to you, Fíli, was simply a medicine. He gave me another one, and I need you to tell me whether or not it is the same thing as what you were given."

Fíli opened his eyes and looked at Balin again. Balin took the tablet from his pocket and showed it to him, and Fíli tried to look, but his eyes did not seem to focus, and after a few moments, he let out a soft whimper and let them close. Nála rubbed his shoulder gently.

"Come on, Fíli," she said softly.

Fíli grimaced and opened his eyes again, studying the tablet.

"Aye, it looked like that," he said finally.

"It could be something else that looks identical," said Óin, stepping in. "May I see?"

Balin nodded and handed the tablet to his cousin, and Óin inspected it carefully; then, he touched it with his tongue and nodded.

"I know exactly what this is," Óin said. "Taste it, Fíli." He held it out to Fíli, who shook his head, looking at Óin with wide eyes.

"Just taste it," said Óin. "We don't want you to eat it. I believe it is safe."

Fíli frowned deeply, but he took the tablet and tasted a portion untouched by Óin's tongue. He nodded wordlessly, handing it back to the apothecary. A tremor passed through his limbs, and he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. Nála took his hands in her own.

"It is what the Elf says it is," said Óin. "I would like to get my hands on it personally, as a matter of fact. If this is what he has, he is not to blame, and furthermore, I would like to talk to him myself about where he got it."

"Well, that is one suspect down," Balin muttered. He pursed his lips. While it was a relief to know that a close companion of Thranduil's was not to blame, he still did not know who had poisoned Fíli.

"Who else are you detaining?" Kíli asked.

Balin turned around. "I have detained all the cooks for questioning, even our own," he said. "We do not know from where danger has come, and we must investigate all angles."

Kíli pulled his feet off the desk and sat up straight. "So you have Hallas and Gárwine detained?"

"If those are visiting cooks, then yes," Balin replied. "It is very easy to put poison into food."

"But they were so kind to us," Kíli said, looking to Fíli and then back to Balin. "I do not think it could have been them."

"Well,  _someone_  bloody did it," Fíli retorted, glaring at his brother.

Kíli twisted his lips. "Do you need an extra hand, Balin?"

"If you are willing," said Balin. He looked back to Fíli. "Before I go down, Fíli—is there anyone else I should pull in for questioning? Remember, there are many ways to poison someone, not just by food... has anyone approached you oddly or distracted you in any way today?"

Fíli moaned and shifted to his side, closing his eyes and shuddering, and Nála rested a hand on his shoulder.

"You should answer him, love," she said softly.

"There were the gift baskets," he said through gritted teeth.

"Mum and Uncle went to get rid of those already," said Kíli. "They're trying to find out exactly who was responsible for sending them."

"Good," said Balin. "Anything else?"

Fíli furrowed his brow as he thought.

"The Ranger," he said. "At least, I think he was a Ranger. He bumped into me."

"A Ranger?" said Óin. "A far way to come for something like this."

"He said was in the service of King Thengel," Fíli added. "I can't remember his name. He had dark hair... he was with two Rohirric companions. Very young. I told Thorin I didn't think he was yet thirty."

"You say he bumped into you?" Balin asked.

"Aye," Fíli replied.

Balin turned to Óin. "There are assassins who are known to stick their victims with poisoned needles. He could have done so to Fíli."

Óin nodded seriously and moved in as Balin stepped away.

"Fíli, sit up for me," he said, but Fíli grimaced and shook his head.

"I don't think he can," said Nála. "He's very weak. Kíli, help me sit him up. He can lean against me."

Kíli stepped forward to help, and he and Nála pulled Fíli up; at Óin's instruction, Kíli helped Fíli remove his shirt, and then Nála held him as Óin inspected his skin for pinpricks with a candle.

"Kíli, if you wish to help, come report to me afterwards," Balin said. "I will inform the guards here and down by the guest housing of my possible whereabouts."

"All right," Kíli said distractedly, and with that, Balin left to inform Fingolas he was free to go.

* * *

 

Kíli watched Óin examine Fíli with a heavy sense of foreboding sitting deep in his gut. A  _pinprick_? It seemed plausible, but it shook Kíli's faith in his own safety that someone could be poisoned—and possibly killed—so easily.

Of course, the fact that Fíli had been poisoned was enough to shake him already.

"Did you feel anything when he bumped into you, lad?" Óin asked, his eyes fixed on Fíli's skin. "A pinch, a prick…?"

"No," Fíli replied. He was resting his head against Nála's shoulder; she held his hair out of the way. "Would I have?"

Óin frowned. "Not necessarily," he said, "but it would help to know if there were something I should be looking out for."

A tremor passed through Fíli again, and Óin pulled back the candle, resuming his work when it had passed. Kíli looked on, studying his brother's skin with his own eyes as well. The old Dwarf was a good apothecary, but he  _was_  old; his hearing was already going, and Kíli did not know if his sight was going as well. Many minutes passed in silence as they thoroughly examined Fíli's neck and torso to no avail. Óin pursed his lips and finally motioned for Nála and Kíli to lay the prince back down. Fíli made no sound, but he reached out for Nála's hand as he was lowered. With his hand secure in hers, he closed his eyes.

"I do not see any marks," he announced. "Kíli?"

"I didn't see anything, either," said Kíli. "But I don't trust our eyes to be sure. I think we should send for the Ranger and question him anyway."

Óin nodded. "A good plan."

Kíli took a step back, looking hard at his brother.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Fíli—I promise," he said. Fíli did not respond, and Nála stroked his hair gently. She looked up to Kíli with fearful, pleading eyes; he winced and looked away.

"I promise," he muttered, and he left the room.

Kíli made his way to the lower halls, thinking hard over all the details. He wished he could say he did not suspect Hallas and Gárwine at all, but at this stage, he knew he should not exempt anyone from suspicion. He frowned as Nála's sad green eyes came back into his mind. He had no desire to see that look on Nála's face ever again. For Fíli's sake, and for hers—for  _their_  sake—he had to get to the bottom of this, regardless of his personal feelings.

He consulted a guard on a lower for Balin's whereabouts. His cousin was, apparently, speaking to their own cook in a small sitting-room a bit further down the way. He went that way and nodded to the guard, who let him in. Inside, Balin and the cook were speaking in low voices in a corner of the room. The cook's name was Dýri; he was an older fellow and a good chef, a fat, gruff Dwarf with dark hair and a neat, braided salt-and-pepper beard. Balin looked up as Kíli approached.

"Ah, there you are, laddie," he said. "What news?"

"We didn't see anything," Kíli replied, "but I thought we should pull the Ranger in for questioning anyway." He looked to Dýri. "What about on your end?"

"I let the Elf go," said Balin. "Dýri here says that the Gondorian cook—Haleth, was it?"

"Hallas," Kíli corrected.

"Yes, him. He said he seemed unsuspicious, but he did not recognize all the ingredients the Man brought."

"And Gárwine?" Kíli inquired.

"That you were there for," Dýri said, turning to look at Kíli himself. "He seems kind enough, but the question of what 'spices' he said he needed…"

Kíli frowned, but Dýri was right. It had not seemed suspicious at the time, but that was because they had not known there was a reason to be suspicious at all. What kind of spices did they even use in Rohan? And Fíli had eaten food prepared by Gárwine for lunch, after all; Fíli had not been exactly  _rude_  to him, and especially not rude enough to warrant poisoning, but Men were a fickle race. Who knew what secrets the Rohirric cook held?

"What about the Elven cook?" Kíli asked. "Fíli ate the Elven soup at dinner and I didn't."

"The meals were given out under my supervision," Dýri replied. "They were not marked for anyone in particular; they were just sent out. If it  _was_  the soup, the server would be to blame, not the cook—and the servers were all Dwarves from this very mountain."

Kíli twisted his lips. That was fair enough. But still…

"We should bring in those who served your table just to be sure," Balin said, voicing Kíli's own thoughts. "Kíli, would you send for them?"

"Aye," said Kíli, running a hand through his hair. The strands of thought in his mind were starting to tangle. There were so many people to consider. This was a mess. He thought of Fíli, suffering up in his chambers, and a pang of fear hit his heart. What if Fíli died before they ever found who and what had done this? No— _focus,_  he told himself. He fixed his gaze on Balin again. "Anything else?"

"Dwalin is retrieving the two Men now," Balin replied. "If you would find and question that Ranger…"

"I'm on it," Kíli said, and he dashed off immediately.

His first stop was to a couple of guards just outside the door. He ordered one of them to collect the servers who had assisted his table at dinner, listing their names, and then made his way to the guest wings. He paused in the hallway, suddenly realizing his mistake: he had never asked Nála where the Rohirrim could be found, and he did not know, himself. He wavered, considering whether it would be quicker to go back up into the royal wing deep in the mountain or to attempt to discover it for himself. Either way, he was wasting time. A frustrated growl escaped his throat as he looked forward to the guest wings and then back to the passageways that would eventually lead him to Nála.

Just then, by a stroke of good fortune, a blond Man—surely one of the Rohirrim—turned the corner heading towards him. Kíli straightened up and waved.

"Excuse me," he called, approaching the Man, who looked startled at being addressed by the prince. "I am looking for a Man who was in your company. He had dark hair… possibly a Ranger?"

The Man's face relaxed. "Thorongil," he said resolutely. "I am not sure where he is, Your Highness. Last I saw him, he was leaving with King Thranduil and King Bard from the grand dining hall."

Kíli chewed his lip thoughtfully. Where would they have gone?

"Thank you," he said to the Man. He started to walk away, but then he halted and turned back to the Man.

"Wait," he called, and the other stopped and turned to face him. "What can you tell me of this Thorongil's character?"

The Man smiled. "He is a good fellow," he said. "I do not know whence he came, exactly. I know he is from west of the Misty Mountains, but there is something less coarse in him than a Ranger. He carries himself as a noble, but speaks more humbly than those half his worth. Forgive me if I am too bold, Your Highness, but I do hope you would not suspect him of treason."

Kíli raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Thank you," he said.

"Of course, Prince Kíli," the Man replied, and he turned and went on his way as Kíli leaned against the wall, pondering.

The Man clearly held this Thorongil in high regard; however, the fact that he had travelled with him all this way and yet did not know where he was from troubled Kíli. There were always those who were just charismatic enough, just sly enough, to weasel their way into a group, without anyone knowing how they had come to join them or to whom they were already acquainted. Still, Kíli had seen him speaking with the other Rohirrim as if they were intimate friends, not as strangers; either he put up a good act, or he was accepted as one of their group. Perhaps he had secrets he did not wish to divulge. Thorin had often gone abroad as a regular merchant before they had reclaimed Erebor, never mentioning that he was in fact heir to a great kingdom. Kíli doubted Thorongil had a similar secret, but he could understand that not everyone needed to know everything about a person. All that mattered was if he was trustworthy in the end.

Well, that was what Kíli was going to find out. The Man's report was positive, but Kíli would determine his character for himself in questioning. He walked on, approaching any Man and Elf he came across, inquiring after the whereabouts of the two kings and the mysterious Thorongil. Eventually he came to discover that they were still all together in Thranduil's chambers, a fact that made him wrinkle his nose in distaste. He already knew that neither Bard nor Thranduil— _especially_  Thranduil—would not take well to someone they clearly trusted being called in as a suspect.

Still, he had to do it. He was directed to Thranduil's chambers, and he found the door closed. He knocked, and within a few moments, Thorongil himself opened the door and peered out.

"Ah, Prince Kíli," he said, widening the crack in the door and bowing his head respectfully. He looked back for a moment, presumably at Thranduil, and then moved out of the way, allowing Kíli to step into the room. Kíli tried not to be intimidated by the company he was in, but he could feel the strange, piercing gaze of the Elvenking upon him. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet the Elf's eyes.

"King Thranduil," he said cordially. He shifted his gaze to Bard. "King Bard."

"Hello, Prince Kíli," Bard replied for the both of them, his face set in its characteristic troubled look. "How does your brother fare?"

Kíli looked down for a moment. "Poorly," he replied. "We still do not know what happened to him."

"And how can we help?" asked Bard.

Kíli smiled at the bowman-turned-king apologetically. "I have come to request a private audience with Thorongil," he said, chancing a glance at the Man. His grey eyes lighted on Kíli curiously. "Please forgive the intrusion."

"You suspect him?" Thranduil asked. It was a question, but also an accusation. "I assure you, Kíli, there are few Men less worthy of suspicion than this one."

Kíli pressed his lips together quickly to hide his irritation at being addressed informally. Would this Elf never give his people the respect they were due?

"I will take your commendation into account,  _Your Royal Majesty_ , but we must approach all angles," he said. "If he is truly as noble as you say, I am sure he has nothing to fear."

"You are wasting your time," Thranduil shot back. "I know this lad and knew his father, and fathers beyond him. If you seek to save your brother, you should put your energy and attention elsewhere."

"It is all right," Thorongil said, raising his hands between the two before Kíli could retort. He looked to Kíli seriously. "It is good that you are making a thorough investigation, Prince Kíli. I will gladly go with you, if that is what you wish."

Kíli took a chance to shoot one more glare at the Elvenking as he addressed Thorongil. "Thank you." He bowed his head respectfully to Bard and curtly to Thranduil, and then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room with Thorongil following behind.

Well, the Man did not seem eager to escape—Kíli had to give him that. But that did not absolve him of guilt. He peered behind at Thorongil, who offered a calm, encouraging smile. Kíli looked ahead again.

"We should be there soon," he said.

Thorongil did not respond. Soon they arrived at the room Kíli wished to use, and they stepped in together; two guards were assigned to the door, and then they were alone. Thorongil waited for Kíli to sit before taking his own seat, and then Kíli studied him carefully. If the Man had poisoned Fíli, he would not readily admit it. Kíli needed to know where he was from, what his motives were. His character had already been vouched for, and though Kíli did not like Thranduil, he knew the Elvenking was not a servant of evil. But he needed to hear it himself.

"I am told you are in the service of King Thengel," he said.

"Yes, for the time being," Thorongil replied. "I have also given my service to Lord Ecthelion of Gondor, at such times as I am needed. He values my counsel."

"But you are not from Rohan or Gondor," Kíli said, surveying his appearance. "You might pass for Gondorian, but you would never pass as one of the Rohirrim."

Thorongil smiled serenely. "You are right," he said. "I was born west of the Misty Mountains. My people still live there."

"So Fíli was right—you are a Ranger," said Kíli. "Your accent is like one of theirs, but then again—not."

"I was raised in Rivendell for a time," Thorongil replied.

 _Raised by Elves._  Well, Thorin would have suspected him just for that, if he were telling the truth. But Elrond had been kind to the Company on their journey, and had certainly shown no evidence of any ill will. As far as Kíli knew, Elrond was a protective force in this world, not one of evil.

"In fact, I saw you there once," Thorongil added, as if he could tell Kíli doubted his story. "It was many years ago—I was still a young boy."

Kíli blinked in surprise.

"I had never seen Dwarves before," the Man continued, "and I was very curious to see you, though I was not permitted to speak to you at the time. I seem to recall your company breaking apart some of our furniture to use as firewood…"

A blush grew from Kíli's neck to his ears and cheeks. He remembered that for sure. This young Man had definitely been there.

"Well, I apologize for my kin, then," Kíli said. "We certainly abused your guardian's hospitality. But you are here now—when did you leave Rivendell?"

"I believe it has been seven years now," Thorongil replied. "And I have been travelling on this side of the Misty Mountains for about three. I met Gandalf the Grey in—"

"Gandalf!" Kíli exclaimed. "You know Gandalf?"

"We are close friends," Thorongil replied.

Kíli pondered this quietly. The Man's reputation seemed unimpeachable at this point; he had praise and love from the Rohirrim and the Gondorians, the absolute trust of Thranduil and Bard, and he was close with Gandalf.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you, Thorongil," Kíli said slowly. "You keep good friends in your company; any friend of Gandalf is a friend of mine. He aided us many times along our journeys to reclaim our homeland."

"I have heard him tell of it," said Thorongil. "Though he claims to have been barely involved."

"Such is the way of wizards," said Kíli, feeling the last bit of doubt in Thorongil's character leave his mind. Any further conference would be wasting valuable time. He straightened in his chair. "I am sorry to have doubted your honesty. I thought you might have been to blame for my brother's condition."

"I take no offense," Thorongil said graciously. "If there is anything I can do to help you, please do let me know. I will gladly assist in any way that I can."

"Thank you," said Kíli, rising from his seat. Thorongil rose as well. "For now, if you keep your eyes and ears open for suspicious activity, I would be grateful for any news."

"My service is yours," said Thorongil, nodding seriously. "I cannot say that anyone has made me suspicious, but several of the Rohirrim are trustworthy in my sight—Fasthelm and Gram have been close by my side since we left Rohan, and I especially have no doubts in regards to their honor."

"Are they the two I saw you with this morning?" Kíli asked.

"Yes," Thorongil replied. "I am confident that they, at the very least, are trustworthy, though I consider many of the others dear friends and would vouch for their honor as well."

Kíli nodded. With all the people he had to question, it was a relief to know there were those he could put at the bottom of his list. "If you do hear anything, please report to me or my cousins, Balin and Dwalin. Do you know who they are?"

"I do," Thorongil replied.

"Excellent," said Kíli. "In that case, please excuse me—I have many more people to question who are far more suspicious than yourself."

Thorongil bowed and made his way out, and Kíli stood for a moment in the room alone, crossing his arms. He was relieved, but also more worried than ever. Now he had one fewer suspect and no further clues on who had poisoned Fíli. He found his way back to Balin, who was dismissing the servers from dinner from the room as Kíli entered. The two of them exchanged weary glances, and Kíli stepped in close and spoke in a low voice.

"The Ranger is innocent," Kíli said. "I am sure of it. His good reputation is probably more sound than my own."

"The servers did not see or hear anything amiss at dinner, either," said Balin. "It appears that Fíli was indeed poisoned earlier in the day."

"Then it has been in his system for a long time," said Kíli, feeling despair settle in the pit of his stomach. "Do you think it has been  _too_  long? What if it's too late? What if he—"

"Don't lose hope yet, laddie," Balin said, and Kíli cast him an incredulous look. Balin laid a hand on his arm and smiled grimly. "We are making progress."

"Progress? All we have discovered so far is that everyone we suspect is innocent!" Kíli protested. "How is that progress?"

"Every person we take off our list makes that list shorter," Balin replied. "If we cannot find the culprit through a trail of evidence, we may yet find them by process of elimination. But we must be purposeful in who we choose to question. I believe it is quite likely that one of the cooks is to blame; come, we will question them together."

Kíli sighed and nodded, trudging to an empty seat and dropping himself down. Balin signaled to a guard at the door that he was ready for the next person, and the guard left to retrieve him—whether it was Hallas or Gárwine, Kíli did not know. He passed a hand over his eyes.

It was looking to be a long night, and Kíli wondered if his brother would remain through it.


	4. Investigation, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this wasn't out yesterday! I tried SO HARD to get it finished but I just couldn't manage it and I went to sleep at 2am. And now it's 4am and I'm loopy and possibly dying here just take this.
> 
> This chapter would literally not exist without madammadhatter's help. It goes BEYOND being a beta. She is amazing.
> 
> Important reiteration: Hallas = Idris Elba.

_Why?_

The question circled in Fíli's head, one thought in the mad collection that jangled in his skull like a handful of loose coins. He could barely comprehend the question, let alone try to come up with an answer. He had had bad days, terrible days, in the past, but there were few that lived up to today. He did not understand. He  _could_  not understand. After years of peace and plenty, why had evil visited upon the mountain now?

And why upon him?

"Fíli," called Nála, and he looked up to her, watching her freckles move in and out of focus as he struggled to keep his eyes open. She was frowning down at him. "It's all right, my love. Calm down."

Fíli had not even realized that he was making any sound at all. He pressed his lips together, still trying to focus on her face. It was too difficult. Everything was too difficult. He let his eyes close, and he felt Nála's warm hand upon his own. He let himself relax a little more. At least Nála was with him.

A tremor shook his body yet again. He groaned, and Nála's hand was now on his brow, her voice speaking comforting words that he could not comprehend. His stomach hurt and his throat burned. At least his body had given up on the vomiting. He had had quite enough of that.

"Óin," he called, and instantly the apothecary was at his side. "Are you sure you can't…?"

"I am not sure it would be wise, lad," Óin replied. "We still have no idea what is in you."

Fíli grimaced. That was not the answer he wanted. He wanted this torture to abate. He could barely even think.

"There's nothing else you can tell us, Fíli?" Nála asked.

"Mahal's  _beard_ , I don't  _know_!" Fíli moaned, turning his head away. He wanted to sleep. His limbs were shaking on their own again. He could still feel his heart beating, and once the shaking stopped, he pressed a palm against his chest. It was strange that they said his heart was beating slower than usual; the uncomfortable feeling in his chest would have made him think it was too fast.

"All right, there's no need to curse, lad," said Óin. Fíli turned his head back and fixed a glare on his cousin, who looked back at him placidly. Óin rarely showed worry, unless he was sure the end was nigh. It was a good bedside manner, but at the moment, it was infuriating. How he wished he could sleep… he released Óin from his gaze and closed his eyes. His stomach gurgled, and he groaned and looked up at the ceiling, fearing the worst. However, nothing further happened, and Fíli furrowed his brow.

"Fíli, what's wrong?" Nála asked.

"Nothing, nothing," Fíli replied. "For once. I think… I think I'm actually hungry." He looked up at Óin. "That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"I believe it is," said Óin. He smiled. "But do you want to eat?"

Fíli grimaced. That was a good question. His stomach growled again, and then he began to shake; his thoughts were lost as he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. More than anything else, he wanted to  _sleep_ , but every time he got close, these damned tremors shook him back awake.

"Maybe something light," Nála suggested, and Fíli blinked up at her, trying to remember what she was talking about. She looked to Óin. "A little something would probably be good for you… maybe stave off some of that weakness?"

Right—food. He was hungry. His stomach was growling. But it wasn't weakness Fíli was worried about. He could lie in bed for a few days if that had been all that was wrong. It was everything else—the  _shaking_ , and the uncomfortable beating in his chest, and the tingling that he still felt in his fingertips.

"Maybe some toast and tea?" Nála suggested. "Extra sweet?"

Fíli smiled at her affectionately. She looked back at him with a curious grin.

"What?"

"I love you," he said.

Nála chuckled and kissed his forehead. "You love sugar."

"And you."

"I'll take it," said Nála. She rose from her place on the bed and smiled. "I'll be back soon."

Fíli watched her back as she left the room, his vision swaying. He felt lonely the moment her skirts disappeared through the doorway, and he closed his eyes. Maybe his body would let him rest… he lay still for a few minutes, and consciousness seemed to drift away; then, a tremor moved through him again, startling him back into the waking world. He furrowed his brow and took a deep, tearful breath. This was maddening.

The next thing he felt was movement beside him on the bed, and he opened his eyes. He spied Nála's red, wavy hair, and then she turned around to look at him. Seeing him awake, she gasped and took his hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my love," she said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Fíli did not reply. He simply closed his eyes again, focusing on the soothing movement of Nála's thumb across his knuckles. She was saying something, but the words were lost on him. Her grip on his hand tightened, and he heard his name. He looked up at her, fighting his irritation.

"I said, did you want your toast and tea?" she asked. "You don't have to eat if you don't want to. I made it very sweet, though. There's even honey on the toast."

Fíli was not sure about the toast, but the idea of tea was certainly appealing. He moved to sit up, and his sore middle protested. He groaned and lay back down.

"Here, I'll help you," said Nála, and then he found himself in her arms, his face pressed into her collarbone as she helped him up, breathing in the scent of mountain pines and ink and paper. Then he was leaning back into pillows, and Nála was holding a mug out for him to take. When he did not reach for it, she took one of his hands and wrapped it around the mug, smiling sadly.

The tea did smell good. Fíli took a sip, and he smiled; it was very sweet, indeed—just the way he liked it. He took a few more sips, and then he began to shake, and Nála reached out to steady the mug before he spilled anything.

"You don't have to finish it if it's too hard to hold," she said.

"No, it's good," Fíli replied. It even felt like his head was clearing. Maybe he could even eat again, though the idea of putting something solid in his stomach made him nervous. He finished his tea and handed it back to Nála, and she asked if he wanted the toast. Though his stomach growled and he felt a bit guilty for wasting her efforts, he shook his head. The tea had definitely made him feel better, and he did not want to make it worse again.

"I want to sleep," he said.

"All right, then," said Nála. "Let me help you back down, then."

Fíli was momentarily pressed back into the smell of pine and paper and ink, and then he was on his back, his head sinking comfortably into a pillow. He reached out for Nála's hand and then closed his eyes, and then another maddening tremor shook him; he whimpered, and Nála's grip tightened. He felt her run a hand through his hair and then it rested on his chest. His heart beat slowly under her palm, and the last thing he felt before finally— _finally_ —drifting off was soft lips against his cheek.

* * *

 

It ended up being Hallas first. Kíli straightened as the Gondorian came into the room, looking small and afraid, even though he was as tall as any Man of Gondor. Balin gestured for him to take a seat, and he did, his shining dark eyes moving back and forth between the two Dwarves. Kíli watched him curiously, waiting for Balin to begin.

"Thank you for meeting with us," said Balin.

Kíli snorted. As if the poor Man had a choice. A sharp look from Balin had him looking down at his lap.

"I will answer any questions you have," Hallas said. "I swear to you, I would never poison anyone, let alone the Prince of Erebor."

"The sentiment is appreciated," Balin replied. "What is your position back in Gondor?"

"I am a cook for the Steward and his family," said Hallas. "One of them, anyway. Their best." His chest puffed in pride, and Kíli looked up at him with a half-smile, amused.

"Lord Ecthelion sent his best cook to us?" asked Balin. "I would think he would want you at home."

"I believe he wanted to impress you," said Hallas. "There is much at stake, and we wanted to make the best impression possible in every way… my lord has been troubled as of late. I have seen the fire beyond the Mountains of Shadow with my own eyes."

"And has it troubled you, too?"

Hallas nodded seriously. "I have always known peace living in Minas Tirith, but my people grew up knowing that it was a watchful peace. I have heard rumors of dark powers and of war."

"Only rumors?" Kíli said, raising an eyebrow. "There was a battle before the very gates of this mountain only eighteen years ago."

"Forgive me, Prince Kíli," said Hallas, bowing his head. "We heard tell of the Battle of Five Armies in Minas Tirith, but it seemed nothing more than a story from far away. I was still a young lad at the time, only twenty years old… I did not yet care for the world outside my own."

"Blimey," Kíli muttered. These Men were little more than children, and they did so much in their short lives. Kíli himself had rarely traveled further than Bree until the quest, and he had been seventy-seven years old then.

"Would Lord Denethor confirm your position, should we ask him?" Balin asked.

"Of course," Hallas said, nodding emphatically. "And I am confident he would vouch for my character, as well."

Kíli and Balin exchanged glances. That was too easy to check on to lie about. Kíli signed in Iglishmêk that he would check later anyway, and Balin nodded.

"Now, as for lunch," Balin said, leaning forward. "Did—"

"I only made food for Prince Kíli here," Hallas said, nodding at Kíli. "I did not make anything for Prince Fíli at lunch."

Balin looked to Kíli for confirmation, who signed  _As far as I know_. He looked back to Hallas.

"Did you notice anything odd while you were in the kitchen?" he asked. "People who shouldn't have been there, suspicious activity of your fellow cooks…?"

Hallas lowered his gaze, taking a few moments to think.

"Nothing stands out to me as suspicious," he said finally, looking back up at Balin. "Gárwine forgot a bag of spices in his room and had to run back for it, but I have known him for some time. I cannot imagine he had any ill intent—that any of his spices were actually poison."

"We will decide that, thank you," said Balin. "Was there ever a time when a cook was left unattended with the food?"

"No, definitely not," said Hallas. "There were always at least three of us there."

Balin made a thoughtful noise in his throat and leaned back. He eyed the Man up and down.

"Would you be opposed to us going through your things?" he asked. "Both in the kitchen and in your room?"

"Please do," said Hallas. "I have nothing to hide."

"And if you could turn out any pockets on your person, as well," Balin said with a diplomatic smile.

Hallas nodded and stood, immediately pulling out his pockets. They were all empty. Balin looked to Kíli and gestured towards Hallas, and Kíli rose, feeling an uncomfortable warmth rise in his ears and neck.

"Would you mind if I patted you down as well?" he asked.

Hallas cooperated without complaint, and Kíli found nothing suspicious on his person. He looked to Balin and signed  _Nothing_. Balin looked from the Man to Kíli and sighed.

"Thank you, Hallas," he said. "I have nothing further to ask at this time. Dwalin will escort you out."

Hallas bowed respectfully to the two Dwarves before him.

"If I can do anything further to help, I would be happy to oblige," he said. Kíli followed him to the door, where Dwalin was waiting, his arms crossed and his face fierce; tall Hallas looked nervously from Dwalin to Kíli, but Kíli merely smiled and sent him off. Then he came back to Balin, closing the door behind him. Balin was deep in thought.

"I want two people to look through the cooks' things to make sure we don't miss anything," he said. "Óin is with Fíli… We can call for Anwynn, but I need someone else. Who can be summoned on short notice?"

Kíli thought for a moment. "There is that nurse from the Iron Hills," Kíli said. "Elís. She sat at our table."

"Can we trust her?" Balin asked.

"She serves Dáin personally," said Kíli. "Not the best sense, I don't think, but she knew Fíli was poisoned very quickly; I would think she could identify a poison as well."

"Send for her, then," said Balin. "Quickly. Have them search the cook's chambers first, then the kitchens. And once they are at it, come back here."

Kíli dashed off at once.

* * *

 

Kíli returned to find Balin already speaking to Gárwine. The Man's face, which had been pale before, was now flushed deep red, and his blue eyes were shining. His gaze latched on to Kíli as he moved through the room and dropped himself back down into his chair.

"What's going on?" Kíli said to Balin.

"Master Gárwine here says he had no part in poisoning Fíli," said Balin, keeping his eyes trained on the flustered Man. "That his forgotten spices were merely—"

"Horseradish, juniper, ramson, the like," Gárwine cut in. His voice sounded strained. "Nothing dangerous. I would never poison anyone, let alone a prince."

"That is what your Gondorian companion said, as well," said Balin. "And yet our prince lies in bed suffering from poison as we speak."

Gárwine's eyes grew wide, and he swallowed. Kíli felt a pang of sympathy for him. He liked this Man, even if he did suspect him. He hoped his suspicions were groundless.

"Was Hallas with you the entire time you were preparing my brother's meal?" he asked.

"Yes, and others, too," Gárwine said. "Your cook, Dýri, was there, among others. I noticed nothing suspicious."

"Would you mind if we had our people look through your things?" Balin asked. "Both in the kitchen and in your chambers."

"I have no objections," said Gárwine, his shoulders relaxing.

Balin looked at Kíli and gestured to Gárwine, and Kíli rose.

"And we'll need to search your person as well," Balin added.

Gárwine obliged, and once again, Kíli found nothing. He looked to Balin and shook his head, and Balin pursed his lips.

 _If he is guilty, he is not very good at staying calm,_  Kíli signed.

 _It could be an act,_  Balin signed back.  _Make sure someone keeps an eye on him._

Kíli nodded and turned back to Gárwine, who was watching them both nervously. He smiled up at the Man and gestured to the door.

"We have no further questions as of now," he said. "Thank you for being cooperative. Please inform one of us if you remember anything worthy of mention."

Gárwine seemed too anxious to speak any further, and Kíli was afraid he would faint on the spot when he called Dwalin in to collect him, but the poor Man managed to stay standing. As he left, trailing behind a Dwarf that somehow seemed bigger than he was, Kíli sighed and shook his head.

"This is taking too long," he said, turning back to Balin. "And we're running out of people to question."

"There are plenty more to speak to, and we still have to wait on a report from Anwynn and Elís," Balin replied. "Go to them now and tell them to search through Master Gárwine's belongings as well."

Kíli wanted to protest, but Fíli's frightened face came to his mind, and he kept quiet. He would run from the foot of the mountain to its peak a thousand times if it would save his brother. Instead, he nodded and ran, fighting the sinking feeling in his chest. Surely they would have answers soon.

* * *

 

"Let me handle this, Thorin."

Thorin glowered at his sister as they walked down the corridor together, but the look her face did not change. She was looking back at him, her blue eyes hard and stubborn. He shook his head.

"Dís, I am the  _King_ …"

"Aye, a king with a temper," Dís retorted. "Need I remind you that the Man we are about to confront is in very high standing within the kingdom of Gondor? If he is not to blame, we risk ruining our good name with the most powerful kingdom of Men in Middle-Earth."

"And if he  _is_  to blame, he will get what he justly deserves," said Thorin. "Fíli is  _suffering_ —"

"I  _know_  he is suffering," Dís said, stepping in front of Thorin and wheeling around, forcing him to stop short. "He is my  _son_ , not just your heir. When we find out who did this, I want them punished. But we cannot risk diplomatic ties over a guess."

"You're wasting time," Thorin said, stepping to the side to move past her. She sidestepped as well and put a hand on his chest.

" _Let me handle it_ ," she said again.

Thorin sighed. If it were anyone else confronting him like this, his only response would be a scathing comeback and an assertion of his own will, but he had never really been able to win with Dís. He knew his weakness, but he had never overcome it.

"All right, poppet," he said. "But if he is to blame…"

"You may do as you like," said Dís. She shifted the heavy basket on her arm. "Now that that's settled, let's go."

Thorin followed her further down the hall, a storm of thoughts flying through his mind. It had taken some time to track down Falur and Fannar and even longer to get any information from them, as they had already retired from their duties for the day and both were quite drunk. Eventually they had gotten enough information out of the two to discover that the baskets had been delivered by two Men early in the morning, who sounded like they were from the south and not from Dale. Apparently, there had been baskets for himself and for Dís as well, but they had been out and about all day, and Falur and Fannar had been instructed to deliver the baskets personally with good wishes; they were both drunk enough to admit that they had been too lazy to seek out the elder members of the royal family, and the baskets were still sitting where they had been left. Only Fíli and Kíli had received their gifts.

That was all the information they had been able to get out of the two. Thorin probably would have strangled them, had his sister not been there to restrain him.

An extensive inquiry among the Men—many of whom were very nervous upon being approached by the King directly—led them to two Gondorians, whom Thorin had interrogated relentlessly until one of them had actually begun to cry. Dís had taken over then, and she managed to extract from the more composed Man that the two of them had only delivered the baskets, not prepared them; they had been prepared long before they even arrived at the Mountain. To Thorin, this was not an adequate reason to remove the two from suspicion, but they had learned the name of the one who had prepared the baskets, and Dís had convinced him that if the two Men had added anything to them, the preparer would know.

And now they were on their way to question him. They approached the door of the Man's chambers, and Dís knocked forcefully. A moment later, the door opened, and a middle-aged Gondorian man opened it quickly.

"Your Royal Majesty," said Beren, bowing low. "And Your Royal Highness." He bowed again to Dís. His grey eyes settled on the basket in her arms, and his brow furrowed. "What can I do for you?"

"We would like to speak to you privately," said Dís, taking a subtle step in front of her brother. "Your chambers would suffice, if you would be so kind as to let us in."

Beren looked behind himself and then back to Dís.

"I'm afraid I am not alone at the moment," he said, "but I am sure that this discussion is safe for the ears of Lord Denethor as well."

Dís looked to Thorin, and he considered for a moment. Perhaps it would be useful to have the son of the Steward there as well. He nodded, and Dís turned back to Beren.

"That would be fine," she said.

Beren nodded and moved out of the way, and Thorin and Dís stepped in, Dís setting her burden down on a table. Thorin sat down in a cushioned chair beside it, grateful for his greater-than-average height; the furniture in this wing of the Mountain was made for taller creatures than Dwarves, and he could only imagine what a fool he would look like, had he been of a more average size for his kind. Denethor sat in a comfortable chair by the bed, a glass of red wine in hand, looking nervously between the Dwarves and Beren; he had bowed respectfully before Thorin, but he had not said a word. Thorin watched Beren sharply as Dís began to speak, crossing her arms.

"You know that my son has been poisoned," she began. "We are investigating absolutely all possibilities, and these baskets are one of them. Fíli ate something out of his basket earlier today."

"Why would we poison your prince?" Denethor said suddenly. "We came to  _you_  for help! Why would we sabotage that?"

"Peace, my lord," said Beren, leaning against his bedpost. "There are servants of the enemy everywhere. It is reasonable that they would suspect any and all visitors to this Mountain." His eyes moved from Denethor to Dís. "And perhaps… those who are not visitors, as well."

Thorin narrowed his eyes and nearly made a quick retort, but a sharp glance from Dís stayed his tongue. She straightened her shoulders and looked up at Beren with only her eyes, keeping her head level.

"We are here to ask you questions, not to have the loyalty of our kin questioned," she said evenly. "Our investigation has led us to believe that you arranged these gift baskets personally. Is that true?"

"It is," said Beren. "I personally picked out everything that went into each one, including your own. I do hope you got them."

"We did not," Dís replied. "But that is beside the point. Can you tell me what you put in Fíli's?"

"There were plenty of things," Beren replied, gesturing to the basket on the table. "You can see for yourself. Meats, oils, wines, sweets…"

"What kinds of sweets?" Dís asked.

"I don't recall," said Beren. "Chocolate, I believe… I think most of the sweets went into Prince Kíli's basket. In my experience, the youngest always has a sweeter tooth."

Thorin hid a smile behind his hand. How wrong this Man was.

"Will you look into this one and see if there is anything you don't recognize?" Dís asked, stepping aside.

"Of course," said Beren. He moved forward and searched through, nodding occasionally. Thorin watched him carefully. His face betrayed no fear, and he did not seem to be attempting to sneak anything out of the basket, either. Finally he stood back and shook his head.

"Everything here is something I picked out personally," he said.

"Fíli ate some of the chocolate earlier today," Dís said. "You put it in the basket yourself?"

"Yes," Beren replied, frowning. "I would not poison Prince Fíli, Your Highness. I have absolutely no intention of harming him in any way."

"Then you would not mind eating some of that chocolate yourself, would you?" Thorin asked. He moved Fíli's basket forward on the table. Dís looked at him with flashing eyes, but he settled his gaze on Beren.

"This is uncalled for!" Denethor exclaimed, rising from his chair. "This is what you think of my people? That we would resort to poisoning? That we would  _want_  to cause harm to those we have come to ask for help?"

"If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear," Thorin replied sharply.

"The King is right, my lord," said Beren, picking out the chocolate and breaking off a piece. "There is no harm in proving innocence."

Denethor sat down with a huff, and Thorin smiled grimly. These Men were such children, no matter how much more quickly they seemed to mature. He watched Beren eat several pieces of chocolate, and when the Man was done, he looked at Thorin.

"Does that satisfy you, Your Majesty?" he said.

"Time will tell," Thorin said, crossing his arms. He looked to Denethor. "If your companion begins to feel ill, please call for someone immediately."

Denethor's face was a deep shade of pink, and he said nothing. Thorin bowed his head and rose; Dís looked to him, and he asked her in Iglishmêk if there was anything else she wished to ask. She shook her head.

"Thank you for your time," she said to Denethor and Beren. "I appreciate your understanding in this matter. Your willingness to cooperate has been a credit to you."

"If there is anything at all I can do to further assist you, I am at your service," said Beren. "Please do keep me informed on the Prince's condition. He and his brother were very pleasant to me, and I would be pleased to know that he is feeling better."

"Thank you," said Dís quickly, before Thorin could even open his mouth. She took the basket off the table, and with her free hand, she took hold of his wrist and pulled gently. He followed her out of the room.

The moment the door was closed, he grumbled, "I don't like that Man's attitude."

"You don't have to," said Dís. "He ate that chocolate without any hesitation. Either it wasn't poisoned, or he is in for a miserable evening."

"I'll send someone to keep an eye on this wing," Thorin said in a low voice. "These Men are not to leave this mountain until we know who did this to Fíli—and that Fíli will recover."

"What about the talks?" asked Dís.

Thorin shook his head. "Talks can wait," he said. "For now, our priority is Fíli."


	5. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh I'm so sorry this took so long to get to you. I said a week and here we are almost two weeks later. So uh, what happened is I had too much homework, so I decided that instead of updating on Tuesday or Wednesday, I'd update on the weekend—but then my mom had surgery and I drove 7 hours down to New York to help take care of her as she recovered. It was a surprise visit, and she was very happy to see me, so I regret nothing. And I'm excited to finally have this chapter for you! From now on, I will update on weekends. Keep an eye on the tag "mystery fic" on my tumblr (mistergandalf) for updates and info. So, without further ado...

Kíli dropped back into his seat and buried his face in his hands.

"This is a disaster," he said into his palms.

"You keep saying that, but it isn't going to solve anything, laddie," said Balin. Kíli lifted his head and glared at him, but Balin remained unmoved. He was sitting back in his chair, his fingers linked over his stomach. They were alone for now; Balin seemed to be deep in thought, and annoyance wriggled around in Kíli's chest.

"Balin, what are we doing?" he said. "We should be—I don't know— _doing_  something… we're just  _sitting_  here…"

"I am trying to  _think_ , Kíli," said Balin. "Please be quiet unless you have something helpful to say."

Kíli slumped in his chair, chagrined. He thought of Fíli up in his chambers, suffering, and anger burned in his gut. How could someone do this to his brother? He wanted someone to take it out on, and a fleeting thought passed through his mind that perhaps anyone would do.

The door opened then, and Kíli looked up sharply, wondering who had been permitted to pass through those doors unannounced. He relaxed as Dáin walked in and rose from his seat to greet his cousin; they clasped each other by the arm, and Dáin nodded to him seriously.

"Awright, Kíli," he said. He looked past Kíli's shoulder. "Balin. How's the investigation goin'?"

"All dead ends, it feels like," Kíli said gloomily, letting go of Dáin's arm. "You haven't noticed anything off, have you?"

"Can't say I have," said Dáin.

Kíli's shoulders dropped, and he looked over at Balin, who raised his eyebrows and sighed. Kíli looked back to Dáin.

"You've been in this part of the world longer than us," he said. "Is there anything or anyone you can think of that could be responsible for this?"

"I would suspect that pointy-ear from the forest, if I suspected anyone," Dáin said, scowling. "I cannae imagine that Bard would have anything to do with this, and I don't know much about those southern kingdoms of Men…"

"Neither do we, it seems," Kíli grumbled.

Suddenly, there was an unintelligible shout outside the door, and all three Dwarves looked that way, startled. A moment later, the doors burst open, and Thranduil flew into the room, with Bard, Denethor, Beren, and Thorongil following behind his billowing robe. His eyes were wide, his brow furrowed, and before anyone could greet him, he began to shout.

"What is the  _meaning_  of all this?" he cried. "Suspecting my own apothecary? Our  _cooks_ , who make our  _own_  meals? The  _insolence_ , keeping us here, as if we were common criminals! We came for one purpose, and now we are kept here under lock and key! I will not stand for this any longer!"

"I'm sorry, my lords—I tried to reason with them, but they are absolutely livid," said Beren, holding out his hands entreatingly. He looked sidelong at Denethor, who was standing close to Thranduil, his face pink and marred with a deep frown.

"Oh, sod off, Princess!" Dáin shouted at Thranduil.

"It appears I'm given no  _choice_  in that matter, you smelly  _git_ ," said Thranduil, setting blazing eyes on him. Kíli covered his mouth with his hand hastily to hide his laughter. He had never thought he would hear Thranduil say such a petty insult in his life.

"Please, my lords," said Balin, finally rising from his seat. "There is no need for insults. We are here for common purpose."

"We  _were_  here for common purpose, but that has been thwarted by your investigation into  _my_  people!" said Thranduil. "As if we would ever—"

"As if you would ever!" Dáin interrupted. "Ye've never given our people any help! Ye've always hated us! Why don't ye come out and say it?"

"This is not the time for reminiscing," said Thorongil, stepping between Thranduil and Dáin, who were practically toe-to-toe at this point. "Please, listen to  _reason_ … Beren is right. If someone here has poisoned one of us, we do not know if someone else may be next. We must work together."

Kíli's eyes widened, and he looked to Beren, who was looking mournfully between the Elvenking and Lord of the Iron Hills. He seemed to feel Kíli's gaze and turned his eyes to him; Beren shrugged, pressing his lips together. A bolt of fear went through Kíli. He had not considered that others could have been poisoned, as well.

"Why are you all here?" Kíli asked, turning to face Thranduil. "We are trying to investigate. We don't have time for these interruptions."

"King Thranduil believes you are looking in the wrong places, Prince Kíli," said Bard, stepping around the crowd and looking down at him, his face characteristically mournful. "I am inclined to agree. I know my own people have heretofore not been under suspicion, but I wonder that you suspect people of high station in King Thranduil's court. I cannot see him as a threat."

"Says the Man who stood by his side as his army killed  _my_  people," said Dáin viciously.

"That battle is done and past, and in the end, we were united," said Balin, stepping forward and resting a hand on Dáin's arm. "I know there have been damages done in the past, but if I may reiterate—today, we are here for common purpose. Please be civil."

" _Someone_  here is far less than civil, though," said Kíli. He glanced at Men and the Elf in the room. "It may not be  _these_  people, specifically, but it had to have been someone visiting the Mountain…"

"Have you considered that perhaps it was one of your own, or one of  _his_?" said Denethor, gesturing at Dáin. "How do you know it was not a Dwarf, biding his time, waiting for a chance to strike when he would be least suspected, using all of us as a cover?"

"I do not know how life is in the kingdoms of Men, but we Dwarves are a  _loyal_  folk, my lord," said Kíli coldly.

"But perhaps he is right," said Beren. "It is worth considering—there are crafty and cunning people in the world, those who have turned to darkness in the night, when no one sees and no one hears. They could have been among you for years, waiting for the opportune time to strike. This is the perfect time. How can we know that it was not someone close to him? For example, that redhead in charge of hospitality—his fiancée, I believe? How well do you know her?"

A fire of rage burned so suddenly and so bright in Kíli's chest that the next thing he saw was Beren on his knees, staring up at him in terror as Balin held him back.

"Listen here,  _child_ ," he snarled, fighting against Balin's grip. "I have known Nála twice as long as you have been  _alive_. She would  _never_  harm my brother, even if the only other choice were her death. Question her loyalty or her love again, and you will never live to see twice your own age."

"Please forgive me, my lord," Beren pleaded hoarsely, staggering to his feet with Thorongil's help. "I merely wished to make an example—an example of someone who was close, someone who might have had a chance… I do not truly suspect her. I will not speak against her again, I swear to you. It was wrong of me to do so. I am so sorry."

Kíli glowered at the Man, but he stopped pulling against Balin's grip, and after a moment, Balin loosened his hold. Kíli ripped his arms away, keeping Beren under a heavy glare. The Man looked down at the ground, red-faced.

"This is solving nothing," said Thorongil, his hand resting on Beren's shoulder. "Instead of accusing each other, we should be trying to help. Does anyone have any information that could help the Dwarves in their search for the culprit, so that we may get back to the original purpose for which we are all here? The sooner we find out who did this, the sooner things can get back to normal."

"I have seen nothing and I know nothing," said Bard.

"The same," said Denethor, looking warily at Kíli.

"My lord Thranduil?" said Thorongil, looking up at the tall Elvenking, who was also watching Kíli, a curious look in his eyes. He shook his head.

"What is going on here?"

All eyes turned to the doorway, where Thorin stood, eyeing the crowd. Kíli ducked his head, feeling as if he were in trouble somehow.

"My lord Thorin," said Thorongil, stepping in front of the others and bowing respectfully. "There are those among us who feel that people are being suspected wrongly. If I may speak for Lord Denethor and King Thranduil, they are both feeling… well, slighted, that people they trust are being questioned. The rest of us here share the sentiment that perhaps there are others who should be considered."

Thorin crossed his arms and stared at Thorongil, his face betraying no thought or feeling.

"As I said to Lord Denethor and Beren," he said, "if they have nothing to hide, they have nothing to fear."

"Well said, my lord," said Beren, his voice a pitch higher than it had been. Kíli pressed his lips together to hide a smile, secretly pleased that he had frightened the Man. He deserved it.

Thorin nodded and looked over the group again, but no one spoke up. His interruption seemed to be deflating the tension in the room— _an unlikely circumstance,_  thought Kíli.

"E-excuse me," called a feminine voice from behind Thorin. He looked behind him and then stepped out of the way, allowing two Dwarves into the room. The first was Elis, looking perturbed at the number of people taller than herself—she was the same height as Kíli—and young dwarrowdam with blonde hair named Anwynn, an apprentice of Óin's. She stood tall and proud, but her fearful hazel eyes betrayed her confident stance.

"There are quite a lot of people in here," Elís said, eyeing Thranduil nervously. "What is the occasion?"

"Never mind that for now," said Balin. "Any news? I am sure all here would do well to hear it."

"N-none," said Anwynn after a moment's silence. "We looked through absolutely everything in both cooks' chambers and in the kitchens. Everything is in order as it should be."

Kíli glanced at Denethor, who seemed to be calming down and getting angrier simultaneously. What curious creatures Men were.

"Is there anything else we can do?" asked Elís. She glanced at Kíli, but then immediately looked away again.

"That is all, thank you, ladies," said Balin. "Please do not go far in case you are needed again."

"Aye, sir," said Anwynn, linking her arm through Elís's and backing out of the room. Elís followed, and the moment they were gone, Balin turned to the Men.

"There, two fewer of your Men under suspicion," he said. "Does that make you feel better?"

"Hallas is a good man," said Denethor. "Of course he did not poison your prince."

"Like I was saying," Thorin said haughtily. Denethor scowled, but said nothing further.

"Have you seen Fíli?" Kíli asked.

"Aye," Thorin replied. "I just came from his chambers. I left your mother there with him."

"How is he?"

"Better, I think. Much better, in fact. He would probably be glad of your company, if you can be spared."

Kíli looked to Balin, who nodded, rubbing his forehead wearily.

"Much better?" said Beren. "I am glad to hear it. Prince Kíli, please send him my good wishes. And, er, to N-Nála, as well."

"Thank you, Beren," Kíli said icily without looking at him. He moved through the group to the door; as he walked past Thorin, his uncle grabbed his arm and pulled him close.

"Have you learned anything new?" he whispered.

"Nothing," Kíli said.

"Very well," said Thorin. "Thank you for trying. We will keep looking, but I think Fíli will be all right in the end. He is recovering well."

"Good," said Kíli, and Thorin released his arm. He stepped out of the room and started on his way to see his brother.

* * *

 

The room was quiet when Kíli entered. Óin sat at Fíli's desk, his chin tucked into his chest and his eyes closed. Nála was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and Fíli lay on his side, his back to the door and his head in Nála's lap. Her hand rested on his back. She smiled up at Kíli as he approached the bed.

"He's been asleep," she whispered. "Óin, too, I think, for a while. Your mother just went to fetch us both some tea." She looked down at Fíli. "I think the tremors have nearly stopped."

"That's good," Kíli said, looking his brother over. His blond hair washed over Nála's skirt, obscuring his face from view, but his breathing was slow and even. She looked down at him and frowned, rubbing his back gently.

"He was so exhausted," she said. "Every time he tried to sleep, he'd get shaken awake again… but I think he just got so tired that it didn't matter anymore. He just sleeps through them now."

"When was the last one?" Kíli asked.

Nála shrugged. "Maybe half an hour ago? He's been asleep for nearly an hour, I think…"

"And Thorin said he would be glad of my company," said Kíli with a wry smile. "He neglected to mention that he was asleep. I wouldn't want to wake him."

"Well, Fíli isn't much company at the moment, and Óin dozed off in that chair," Nála replied. "You are welcome to keep  _me_  company."

"Gladly," said Kíli. He looked over at Óin sitting in the chair, and then sat down carefully on the bed by Fíli's feet. Fíli shifted, but he did not seem to wake. Kíli looked back up at Nála.

"And how are you?"

Nála smiled, keeping her eyes fixed on Fíli's sleeping frame.

"I'm fine, Kíli," she said. "Truly."

"You're just like him, you know that?"

She chuckled. "I think if either of you were to insist you were fine, it would be you."

"Fíli's told you stories, hasn't he?" Kíli said, grinning sheepishly.

"I also grew up with you two, don't forget. And Flán  _is_  my brother…"

Kíli shrugged his shoulders. She was right, of course. He would never admit that he needed help unless there was no other option; Fíli was much more willing to accept assistance, though he was definitely still stubborn on his own. Nála, like her brother, was somewhere between them.

"We still have no clue who is responsible," he said. "One of the Men actually suggested you as the culprit."

Nála looked up, her green eyes flashing dangerously.

"I would  _never_ —"

"I know you wouldn't, and I made sure he knew," said Kíli. "He was practically whimpering, I frightened him so badly. He was very apologetic afterwards. Probably will never want to show his face in this Mountain again."

Nála relaxed, letting out a sigh.

"Thank you, Kíli."

Fíli stirred again, and both Kíli and Nála looked at him, watching to see if he would wake. Slowly, he lifted his head, and then he let it drop back into Nála's lap with a groan.

"Fíli?" she whispered, pushing his hair away from his face. Kíli could not see from his angle, but he could tell by the soft smile on her face that Fíli was looking back at her. He reached out with one hand, and she took it, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb.

"How do you feel?"

Fíli mumbled something unintelligible, drawing his knees up. He let out a moan and moved his free arm under the covers and over his stomach.

"What was that, Fíli?" Nála said, leaning in to hear him better.

"My stomach," Fíli murmured. "My s-stomach…"

"It's probably sore," said Kíli. "He threw up a lot."

"No," Fíli said, gaining volume. He sounded desperate. "Something—something's not right…"

"Kíli, get that bowl on the desk," Nála said urgently. Kíli dove for the bowl and brought it over, and Nála lifted Fíli up so he leaned against her and handed it to him. A few moments later, he vomited into it what little liquid was in his stomach. Kíli and Nála looked at each other, alarmed, and as soon as Fíli was done, Kíli set the bowl aside and jumped off the bed. Nála drew Fíli's head into her shoulder as he began to shake with a tremor.

"Óin, wake up!" Kíli said, shaking the old Dwarf's shoulder. Óin started awake and looked up at Kíli, then over to Fíli; a moment later, he was on his feet and at the elder prince's side.

"Fíli, tell me what is happening," he said. "Nála, turn him to face me."

"Something's not right," Fíli said again. "It's not—it's not…"

"His pulse is slow still," said Óin, his fingers pressed against Fíli's throat. "Perhaps even slower."

Fíli let out a cry and gagged, and Óin handed him the bowl again, but he only managed a few dry heaves. He relinquished the bowl to Óin again and leaned heavily into Nála, gritting his teeth as another tremor started.

"I thought he was getting better," Nála said, looking up at Óin desperately.

"No, he is getting worse," said Óin, a hint of fear in his voice. An icy dart of terror shot through Kíli. If Óin was afraid…

"What has happened since he was brought here?" Kíli asked, looking between Óin and Nála. "You two have been with him the whole time. What could have done this?"

"The only people here were people we trust," said Nála.

"Has he eaten anything, drank anything? Anything at all?"

"I made him tea about an hour ago—that's all he's had," Nála said. "I only used the tea and milk and honey already in the kitchen."

Fíli's eyes snapped open suddenly and latched onto his brother. Kíli looked back at him, his heart pounding.

"Kíli," said Fíli, but he said nothing else. His eyes were trying to say something, something important, but Kíli could not decipher his meaning.

"What, Fíli?" he said.

"Kíli," Fíli said again, and then he furrowed his brow, looking perplexed; his eyelids fluttered, and then he managed to train his eyes on his brother again.

"Kíli, the… the…"

"Out with it, brother!" Kíli cried. "What is it?"

Fíli did not respond. His eyes held on to Kíli's for a few moments longer, and then they became unfocused. For a moment, Kíli's world went white.

"Nála, move away from the bed," Óin said tersely, watching Fíli's face.

"No," said Nála, shaking her head furiously and holding on to her fiancé. "No, he'll want me to stay right here…"

"It is better if you don't," said Óin. "Trust me."

"Why?" she cried. "What is happening to him, Óin? What did I do?"

"Nála, get  _off the bed_ ," said Óin, looking up at her. "Do it  _now_."

Nála looked from Óin to Kíli desperately. She kissed Fíli's hair and then laid him down gently, to which he did not respond; he simply kept staring out, confusion written on his face. She slid off the bed and into Kíli's waiting arms, and they watched Fíli and Óin together. Fíli's eyes rolled back in his head.

" _Fíli!_ " Nála screamed, and she started forward, but Kíli held her back. Óin pulled him onto his side as he began to jerk unnaturally—not the tremors of before, but wild, lurching motions, bending him at strange angles. A sickly noise came from his nose and throat. Kíli swallowed, his eyes wide, holding on tightly to Nála.

Fíli was having a seizure.

"What have I done?" Nála sobbed, turning her face into Kíli's chest. "I did this, I did this…"

Kíli wanted to say something reassuring, but his voice stuck in his throat as he looked on in horror. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He had been getting better. He was  _supposed_  to get better.

"Óin, please tell me there is something you can do," he said, his voice cracking.

"All we can do is wait for him to ride it out," Óin replied, holding Fíli's head gently. "After that, we will see."

"Please, no, no, no," Nála sobbed into Kíli's shirt. "Please, not him…"

Kíli kissed her hair and wrapped his arms tighter around her, his eyes fixed on the seizing form of his brother.  _Please, no,_  his mind echoed after Nála.  _Not Fíli. Not my brother. Not him. If there is anyone who doesn't deserve this, it's him._

Eventually, after what felt like an Age, Fíli's body stopped seizing; Kíli straightened, and Nála pulled her face away from his chest and turned to look. She started forward, but Kíli held her tightly.

"Wait until he says it's all right," he whispered.

Óin carefully lifted Fíli's head and took away his pillow, now stained with vomit, and replaced it with another that was still clean. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the trail of saliva and blood and bile from Fíli's lips. Fíli did not stir; his eyes were not fully closed, but there was no movement beneath the lids. Kíli held his breath.

_Wake up, brother,_  he thought, willing his brother to obey.  _Wake up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NO. 
> 
> Anwynn belongs to the beautiful and lovely Nina, known as ninayasmijn on tumblr. What a lovely person.
> 
> Please leave a review, especially if you have an idea of the whodunit! I'd love to see your guesses... and, of course, your reactions...


	6. Shadows

A minute passed. Then another. And yet still Fíli did not wake.

Óin had signaled to Kíli to let Nála go, and instantly she had flown to Fíli's side. Now she knelt on the bed, one of her hands holding his, the other resting gently on his face. She whispered his name softly over and over again, tears dripping from her freckled cheeks unheeded, yet Fíli did not listen. Kíli stepped nearer and took hold of the canopy with one hand, leaning inward, studying his brother's face, wide-eyed, his heart pounding. Fíli's mouth hung open and his nostrils flared with each heavy breath he took; the sound was grating and unpleasant, but at least it meant Fíli was alive.

Suddenly Fíli jumped to life, bolting up with eyes wild. Kíli jumped, and Nála let out a startled cry and took hold of him, pushing him gently back down into his pillow.

"No, don't get up, love," she said, her voice soft and wobbly. She let out a jittery, relieved laugh. Fíli's eyes roved, connecting with nothing, and he tried to sit up again. Nála pushed him down again and sniffled. She looked up at Kíli and smiled, but Kíli did not return with one of his own; he was watching Fíli closely. His brother was looking about, eyes rolling, chest heaving, his movements loose and uncertain. Kíli blinked rapidly. The last time he had seen that look on his brother's face…

"Nála, he's afraid," he said.

Nála immediately whipped back around and took Fíli's hand again, resting a palm gently on his shoulder to keep him down on the mattress.

"It's all right, Fíli," she said fervently. "I'm here… look at me… it's Nála…"

"By the Smith, what happened?"

Kíli turned around to see Dís standing in the doorway, staring at the scene before her. There were two mugs in her hands. Kíli's heart missed a beat.

"Mum, don't drink that tea!" he cried, abruptly reaching out a hand as if he could reach her from across the room. She jumped.

"What on earth—"

"Did you drink the tea?" Kíli demanded. He marched over to her and snatched the mugs out of her hands, set them aside, and grabbed her by the shoulders. She stared up at him, her mouth opening and closing without saying anything.

"Did you drink it, Mum?" he asked again, shaking her a little.

"No, no, I didn't drink it yet," she said, her brow furrowed. Her gaze drifted from Kíli to Fíli. "What is going on, Kíli?"

"Fíli just had a seizure," said Óin.

" _What?_ " said Dís, ripping herself out of Kíli's grip and hurrying to the bedside. She looked from Fíli to Nála to Óin. "Is he all right?"

"He's still not answering me," Nála said, watching Fíli's face intently. Kíli rejoined them, standing back to allow his brother some space. Fíli's movements were more controlled now, and for a moment, he managed to meet Nála's eyes before looking away. She clasped one of his hands in both of her own and kissed his fingers, and he looked up at her again, this time managing to keep contact. She smiled reassuringly.

"There you are," she said. "Hello."

Fíli's made a quiet, strained noise and closed his eyes. A moment later, he gagged, and before anyone could help, he expelled a string of bile and blood onto the bed. Nála looked up at Óin anxiously.

"Why is there blood?"

Óin moved forward and leaned in close, listening. Fíli was lying limply now, breathing hard. Gently, Óin turned the prince's face to him and coaxed his jaw open.

"Bit his tongue, is all," he said after a few moments. "Nothing worse than that." He pulled a cloth from his bag and wiped the bile off the bed.

"Can he hear us?" asked Dís.

"Ask him," Óin replied.

Dís sat down by Fíli's feet and rested a hand on his leg, calling his name. Fíli looked down at her, and she smiled. Fíli's eyes moved around the room. They settled on nothing for long, moving from Nála to Kíli to the bedposts to Óin, then out into the dim room, back to Nála, up at the canopy above his head. Nothing seemed to satisfy him, and his lips began to move soundlessly, whatever words he intended to say lost on those around him. His chin began to wobble, and instantly both Nála and Dís reacted. Nála shifted behind him and drew him up to rest against her, cradling him in her arms; Dís moved forward and rubbed his back, whispering small comforts as Fíli began to cry bewildered tears, turning his face into Nála.

"It was the tea," Kíli said. "It had to have been the tea. It's the only thing he's had since dinner, and an hour later, he's much worse."

"Blimey, Kíli, half a minute," Nála protested.

"You said you only used what was already in the kitchen, right?" said Kíli, ignoring her reprimand. "Tea, milk, honey, from our private kitchen, here in the royal wing?"

"Yes," Nála replied curtly, glaring up at him as Fíli continued to cry.

Kíli pressed his lips together and looked down at his brother. A tremor went through him, and he stiffened, and Kíli knit his brow and turned to leave quickly.

"Kíli, where are you going?" Dís called.

Kíli turned on his heel to look at his mother incredulously.

"Fíli just had a  _seizure_!" he cried. He threw out a hand at his brother weeping in Nála's arms. " _Look_  at him! Someone did this to him—I don't know how, how they could have done this, but I'm bloody well going to find out! I'm going to see what is in the kitchen. Someone must have switched something, or put something into his tea—I have no idea, but—this needs to stop. It can't get worse. I'm getting to the bottom of this  _now_."

"I agree," said Óin. "We need to find out what did this as soon as possible, before this gets any worse than it already has."

Kíli did not wait for any response. He dashed off to the kitchen immediately. Once he was there, he looked across the counter for things left out, but there was nothing; his mother always cleaned up after herself, and usually others as well. He dug through the cabinets. If Nála had made Fíli some tea, she would have used his favorite kind. He pulled that out and then looked for the honey. He found two jars; one was large and stamped with a label from Dale, nearly empty, and the other jar was small and unmarked. Kíli pulled out both. The unmarked jar was new, as far as Kíli could remember, but it was already nearly half gone—not surprising, knowing his brother's sweet tooth. But as Kíli stared at it, recognition came to him, and a thick ball of horror rose in his throat.

It was the honey from his gift basket.

Kíli gathered the tea and honey in his arms and ran back to Fíli's chambers. Everyone was still in the same position as he had left them, but Fíli seemed to have stopped crying, and now he rested, eyes closed, face drawn with exhaustion and misery. Kíli swallowed down his despair and set down the tea and the larger jar of honey. He held the small jar aloft, and Nála looked at him questioningly.

"Is this the honey you used, Nála?" he asked.

"Aye," she replied. "It was already on the counter when I went in…"

"By the Smith's hammer," Kíli cursed. "Óin, you need to look at this. Fíli must have carried it into the kitchen this afternoon." He started the cross the room to hand the jar over to the apothecary when suddenly Fíli jumped in Nála's arms. Kíli paused and looked over at his brother, who was staring up at him with abject horror. He furrowed his brow.

"Fíli, what is it?" he asked.

Fíli did not speak. He ripped himself out of Nála's arms in a panic, pushing back towards the wall, his eyes fixed on Kíli. Nála dove after him, but he knocked her hands away, turning his terrified gaze to her and then to Dís, then to his bedside table, where two knives sat.

"Fíli,  _no_!" Kíli cried as Fíli dove for his weapons, but Dís was quicker. She knocked them off the table, and before they had even clattered to the floor, she had her hands on Fíli and was pushing him back down onto the mattress. He struggled against her with a strength Kíli did not know he still had, and Nála backed off the bed with both hands over her mouth. Kíli moved forward.

"Stay where you are!" Dís shouted at him. Kíli froze. "Don't come any closer—he must be seeing something—Óin, don't just  _look_  at him, you must be able to do something!"

Fíli's newfound strength was waning quickly, but the terror in his eyes was only growing. His breaths came sharply and quickly, and yet they were the only sound he made. Kíli's heart dropped. Fíli was not shouting. He was not screaming. He was keeping himself silent.

Óin came forth with a cloth in hand, and Fíli shrank from him, but he could not escape Dís's grip, and Óin pressed the cloth over his nose and mouth. For another moment, Fíli struggled, but then his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp. Dís pulled herself back, breathing hard; the room was silent. No one looked at each other; every eye was trained on Fíli.

"Hallucinations," Óin said after a long pause. "He must have been seeing something that was not us. Hallucinations, seizures, vomiting, tremors… Kíli, give me that jar of honey. Now."

Kíli moved forward and handed it over, and Óin opened the jar and smelled it, and then he scooped out a small bit onto his finger and tasted it with the tip of his tongue. Immediately he spat it to the side.

"This isn't regular honey," he said. "It's mad honey."

"Mad honey?" said Kíli, furrowing his brow. He had never heard of such a thing.

"Rhododendron honey," Óin explained. "It's a flower that grows in the south. The entire flower is poisonous, and its honey is no better… the Men of the south sometimes use it in small amounts. They think it is medicine. They are wrong. It does nothing good in small amounts, and in large amounts…" He gestured to Fíli's unconscious frame. "He wouldn't know. It was sweet; that's all that would matter to him."

"Oh, Fíli," Kíli whispered, closing his eyes. Of all the things that could have done this, it was his own sweet tooth that had nearly done him in. He opened his eyes at looked to his mother.

"Who put together the gift baskets?" he asked.

"The Man from Gondor," Dís said, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Beren."

Then a fire of rage kindled in him.  _Beren._  That Man had put poisoned honey in  _his_  basket.  _He_  had been the target, and yet Fíli was the one who suffered.

"I'll kill him," he said. "I'll kill that Man, that sneaky, conniving son of a—"

"Kíli!" said Dís. "You will do no such thing. We will bring him to justice properly."

"I don't  _care_  about proper!" Kíli shouted. He began to pace. "He tried to  _poison_  me, he wanted this to happen, he must have wanted this, and now Fíli has been poisoned  _twice_ , this  _never_  should have happened…"

"Oh, Durin," said Nála. "Oh, Durin, I  _did_  poison him, oh, Mahal—"

"You didn't mean to," said Dís, pulling Nála into an embrace. "You couldn't have known."

"I'll  _kill_  him!" Kíli roared, kicking over Fíli's desk chair. He rested his hands on the desk and leaned over, trembling.

"You will  _not_ ," said Óin. "Dís, Nála, go inform Thorin and Balin of what has happened. Kíli, you will stay here. We need to change his clothes and his bedding, and it would be best to do it before he wakes. We only have a few minutes before that happens."

Dís and Nála left the room quickly, but Kíli stayed where he was, standing rigid, staring down at the desk, imagining running a blade through Beren's heart.

"Kíli, focus," said Óin.

Kíli straightened and looked at Óin. He let out a heavy sigh and ran a shaking hand through his hair, and then he stalked over to Fíli's wardrobe and pulled out clean and comfortable clothing.

"I don't know where the bedding would be," he said, approaching the bed. "The servants take care of that."

"Well, we'll just strip the wet sheets off the bed," Óin replied, helping Kíli with Fíli's clothes. They worked quickly to remove the sheets from beneath Fíli before he woke, and Óin balled up the wet sheets and blankets and trousers and tossed them into a corner. Kíli pulled more blankets from a chest at the foot of the bed and slid one under his brother just as he began to stir. He laid a few blankets over him and then stepped back warily, glancing at Óin, who was watching Fíli intently.

Slowly a line of blue became visible beneath Fíli's eyelids, and then he opened his eyes completely. Immediately he grimaced and put a hand on his forehead, letting out a groan.

"Fíli, can you hear me?" Óin called.

Fíli lowered his hand and looked at the apothecary blankly. Kíli held his breath. He did not look frightened as before.

"Can you see me, lad?" asked Óin. "Can you see who I am?"

Fíli took a deep breath and nodded.

"Good," Óin said. "Fíli, you are in your bed, in your chambers, here in Erebor. You just had a seizure. Do you remember that?"

Fíli shook his head.

"Why isn't he saying anything?" Kíli muttered.

Óin shot him a sharp look and then turned back to Fíli.

"There are three people in this room right now, Fíli," he said. "You, me, and Kíli. Do you see Kíli?"

Fíli's eyes drifted from Óin to Kíli. He nodded and looked back at Óin.

"Do you see anyone besides the three of us?"

Wordlessly, Fíli looked around the room. His eyes settled on the doorway, and Óin and Kíli both looked, but the only thing there was the door.

"What do you see, Fíli?" asked Kíli.

Fíli's eyes widened, and he blinked rapidly, his gaze following nothing through the room. He started to push backward on the bed, but Óin called his name sharply, and he paused, turning to look at him.

"There is no one there," Óin said. "What do you see? You need to talk to me, lad."

Fíli's eyes flickered from Óin back out to nothing, his face a mixture of confusion and fear. His lips moved soundlessly for a few moments before he managed to say anything.

"A-Azog," Fíli whispered. "He's not here, he can't be—Óin?"

Kíli turned away suddenly and looked up at the ceiling, crossing one arm over his chest and pressing a hand over his mouth. Tears filled his eyes. Why was this happening? Why did this have to happen to Fíli? He folded his fingers into a fist and pressed them against his lips, turning back around.

"Azog is dead, Fíli," he said. "He's dead—he's been dead for years…"

Fíli nodded, but he was still staring at nothing with fearful eyes. Kíli bowed his head and took a deep breath, fighting his tears.

"Do you still see him?" Óin asked.

"Azog is dead… he cannot hurt me… I survived… I am safe… my family is safe…"

"Yes, that's good," said Óin. "That's good. Don't look at him. Look here at me or close your eyes. Good, keep talking…"

"Azog is d-dead… he cannot hurt me…" Fíli's breath hitched.

"Keep your eyes closed, Fíli. Remember, he's not there. You know he is not there. Kíli, come here."

Kíli looked up and moved closer.

"Help him sit up," Óin said. "I'm going to give him something—it's been quite a while, so I don't know if it will work, but it's worth a try."

Kíli obeyed, carefully pulling his brother into a sitting position. Fíli kept his eyes closed, and Kíli could feel him trembling, even when he wasn't in the throes of a tremor. He sat behind him to hold him up and ducked down to whisper in his ear.

"You're doing great, Fíli," he said. "Remember, he's not there, no matter what you see. It's the poison, that's all. It's not real."

Fíli nodded his head and reached out, and Kíli took his hand and squeezed. Óin was preparing something at the desk; he approached the bed, shaking a bottle filled with something black, and then he pulled out the cork and held it out.

"Drink this, lad," he said.

Fíli opened his eyes. At first he looked at Óin, but then his gaze was drawn to that empty spot again. He gritted his teeth and wrenched his eyes back to Óin, and the apothecary put the bottle into his free hand.

"Drink all of it," he said. "It should help."

Fíli obeyed immediately and then handed the empty bottle back to Óin, grimacing. Kíli smiled. Óin had yet to learn how to make a concoction that tasted good, and at this point, he probably never would.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.

Fíli nodded, his grip tightening on Kíli's hand as his eyes wandered through the room. He shrank into Kíli and turned to face the wall, taking shaky but controlled breaths. His lips were moving, but Kíli could not hear anything; he bent down to listen, but still there was nothing. He sighed and rubbed his brother's arm reassuringly.

"You're all right," he said. "Nothing is going to get you now."

Fíli's shoulders relaxed, but he did not stop shaking, and tears coursed down his cheeks. Kíli held on, continuing to speak soothingly to him; eventually, his brother's grip loosened as he began to nod off. Within a few minutes, he was fast asleep, and Kíli lowered him down and slid off the bed, watching his sleeping frame plaintively. He crossed his arms and sighed.

"What did you give him?" he asked Óin.

"Charcoal and valerian root," Óin replied. "The charcoal will counteract the poison, if it still can. If not, well, he's made it this far, so he won't die. And valerian—"

"Puts him to sleep, I know," said Kíli. He sighed. "I wish we had known sooner… we let him eat that honey twice… he was seeing  _Azog_ …"

"He was brave," said Óin. "Once he knew it wasn't real—he still saw it, but he was mighty brave."

Kíli let a few moments pass in silence.

"He wasn't talking much," he said finally. "Like… well, like before. After the battle."

"He spoke a bit," said Óin. "Don't expect too much out of him, lad. He has been through quite a lot today. Let him rest and come back to himself. That seizure especially took a lot out of him—he'll sleep for a long while, I'd guess."

"And while he's recovering, we'll bring that  _scum_  to justice," Kíli said. "I wonder what else was poisoned in that basket—it couldn't have just been the honey… he couldn't think that I would consume enough to do  _this_."

"We will have to find out," Óin replied.

Kíli ground his teeth. Anger still burned within him at Beren, and he still had half a mind to run him through with the nearest sharp object he could find. But he would have to wait—they did not know everything yet. Why had Beren done this? What was his goal? Why would he try to poison a prince of Erebor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Fíli. We're getting close to the end now. Don't ask me how many chapters that'll be because I honestly don't know. And congratulations to the few of you who actually figured it out before Kíli did! I was quite impressed and rather amused, because a lot of you who guessed it was the honey immediately dismissed your own idea as silly. ;) Good job.


	7. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time since I last posted. I feel like an explanation is in order.
> 
> Basically what happened is school got intense, so I decided to just drop everything but school work until I finished, as it was my last semester. Then once that was over (YAY I'M DONE WITH COLLEGE), I immediately went to New York to spend Christmas with my family. And THEN I bought a video game called Dishonored and it's basically the best game in the world and I disappeared into it for a while. But I have resurfaced! Here I am. I apologize for making you wait; some of you have left me messages asking if I've abandoned this. Fear not; I will finish it.
> 
> Some of you who follow me on tumblr may have also noticed that my blog is gone. Yes, I did delete it, and yes, I am okay, nothing happened to me, I'm doing great, actually. I have been wanting to get rid of tumblr for a long time; it's a massive timesuck, and I have goals in life that don't allow for wasting time on that site, no matter how fun it is and how many friends I've made. I'm still here and on twitter as italian_hobbit, so I'm not gone. Do not despair!

Thorin sat slouched in his seat with one hand over his eyes. Balin was silent. The others had already gone; it had been difficult to placate all, and Thorin was not sure they had quite accomplished that task, but they had been calm enough to leave quietly. Now Thorin and Balin were alone, thinking.

"There are too many possibilities," Thorin said. "Too many, and yet at the same time, none at all."

"We must be missing something," Balin mused.

"We are _clearly_ missing something," Thorin replied, looking up at his old friend, who was stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps Fíli did not tell us something… something important. He has been out of it nearly all day…"

"That is true," said Balin. "Perhaps we should ask him again."

Thorin rose, but as he did, the door opened, and Dís and Nála walked in. He felt the warmth leave his face as he beheld their grave faces. _Fíli is dead._ No. He couldn't be. That couldn't be why they were here.

"Fíli?" he breathed.

"He's alive," Dís said, reading her brother's expression. "But he's worse."

"What do you mean?" asked Balin. "How much worse?"

"He had a seizure," Nála said, her voice shaking. "A-and he's throwing up again, and the tremors have started again, too, and he's—he's hallucinating. He was so…" She trailed off and looked down at the floor, and Dís took her hand.

"By Durin," said Thorin, feeling as if a rock had dropped in his gut. "How did this happen? How could he have gotten worse?"

"I'm so sorry," Nála choked out, keeping her face down. "I'm sorry, I didn't know—I didn't mean to…"

"Hush, Nála," said Dís, pulling her in closer and wrapping an arm around her. "You are not to blame." She looked up at Thorin and Balin. "It was honey in his tea. It wasn't regular honey—Óin says it was mad honey, poisonous honey they have in the south. You know how his sweet tooth is… and Kíli had a jar of honey in one of those gift baskets from Beren. He traded it with Fíli, and Fíli took it to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. And Nála obviously didn't know and made him another one about an hour ago with the same honey."

" _Beren_?" Thorin growled, looking to Balin. "We just had him here—and he had the _gall_ to face us… that faithless _rat_ , I ought to—"

"We will bring him to justice _properly_ ," Balin interrupted. "Though Durin knows we would all like to get our hands on the traitor."

Thorin ground his teeth and clenched his fists. _Justice._ He would bring justice to this Man, all right. Beren had better hope there was someone to hold him back.

"Is Fíli all right?" Balin continued.

"No," Dís replied. "No, he isn't. But I do not believe he will die."

"Do you have any idea why Beren would do such a thing?"

"I don't know," Dís replied. "I think our next step should be to arrest him and question him. We know he is responsible, but in order to properly punish him, we should know his motives."

"Well said, my lady," said Balin. "I will get Dwalin, and we will arrest the Man."

"I'm coming too," said Thorin and Dís at the same time.

Balin sighed and looked at the two of them warily. Thorin raised his eyebrows, challenging his cousin with a glare. Let him try to stop them.

"I don't know if that is a good idea," he said. "You are both very personally involved, and we must not forget that we are supposed to be discussing alliances over the next few days—it would not do well for the host and his sister to go throttling Men of high station who are our guests."

"He is no longer a _guest_ of ours," said Dís. "And I want to look him in the eyes when he is arrested. I want to see the fear in them."

Thorin nodded curtly, feeling the warmth of pride in his chest. His sister had said exactly what he felt.

Balin looked up at the ceiling, his lips moving soundlessly, and then he sighed and looked back at Thorin and Dís.

"Very well," he said, "but please do _try_ to be civil…"

"He wasn't very civil to my nephews, was he?" Thorin countered.

"Yes, but we are trying to prevent a _war_ , and it will do no good to start one," Balin snapped. "Now, can the two of you promise to at least not physically assault the Man?"

"That's a tall order," Thorin muttered. Balin pressed his lips together and glared at him, and he grimaced and nodded. Then Balin looked to Dís, who looked at Thorin, her eyes saying that she did not wish to agree, but then she nodded as well. Thorin smiled at her fondly.

"I have no interest in seeing him," said Nála. "I would like to get back to Fíli and see how he is doing."

"Let us know if anything changes," Balin said. Nála nodded and left the room by herself, and Balin turned to Dís and Thorin again.

"Well," he said, "let's get Dwalin and arrest Beren."

* * *

 

Beren was smiling. He was not frightened or worried or even a little concerned—no, he was actually _smiling_. Even when Balin had told him why they had come, even when Denethor had cried out in shock and outrage, his expression had never changed. He just smiled.

Dís did not like it one bit.

Thorin was glaring at the Man with venom, his chest rising and falling slowly as he fought to remain calm. Dís glanced at him as Balin began to ask Beren questions, but her brother's gaze was fixed. She turned her eyes back to Beren.

"We know it was you," said Balin. "Your silence will not help you. Just tell us why you did it."

"What evidence do you have that it was Beren?" Denethor demanded. He had followed them, and Thorin had not stopped him.

Dís turned to Denethor.

"Answer me this," she said coldly. "Have you ever heard of mad honey?"

Denethor blinked. "Of course," he said. "Those less learned in the south use it as some kind of—well, some kind of love potion, to help with… with loving. But we do not believe such things in the White Tower. We know it only makes people sick."

"Is _he_ included in that knowing lot?" asked Dís, nodding towards Beren.

"Well, yes, of course," said Denethor. His brow was furrowed, but realization was creeping into his expression. He cast a nervous glance at his companion.

"And it _was_ Beren, was it not, who arranged the gift baskets for Fíli and Kíli?" Balin said grimly. "One of which—Kíli's—had mad honey in it."

"But Fíli was poisoned, not Kíli," said Denethor, watching Beren's still-smiling face in bewilderment. "What are you saying?"

"That your companion here misjudged his target," said Thorin. He turned his gaze to Beren. "He said that in his experience, the youngest has the sweetest tooth; in this case, he is wrong. Kíli gave the poisonous honey to Fíli, who consumed quite a lot of it, as you can tell."

"Beren?" Denethor breathed, staring at him wide-eyed. "Did you do this?"

Beren's expression did not change as he spoke.

"Yes," he said, looking calmly at Thorin. "Yes, it is all true. I poisoned several things in Prince Kíli's basket, as a matter of fact. It was a stroke of luck that Prince Fíli was poisoned instead, really; otherwise, picking something to eat out of his basket would have been a challenge."

Dís could feel Thorin bristle beside her without even looking. She could feel her own hands starting to shake.

"Why?" Denethor asked, his voice cracking. "Why would you do this?"

Beren moved his eyes from Thorin to Denethor placidly.

"You are asking the wrong question," he said.

"Then do tell us what the _right_ question is," said Dís, her voice dripping with venom.

Beren eyed her, a malevolent grin twitching on his face.

"You are their mother," he assessed. "It must be hard, knowing you cannot protect them. The fools will get themselves killed, whether you are there for them or not."

Dís slapped him hard across the face, and then hands were on her, pulling her back. She did not fight against them; she had done what she wanted to do. Beren sat still, looking down, one hand pressed to his cheek. Dís looked behind her to see who was holding her. Balin, of course. Thorin and Dwalin would sooner have joined her than stopped her.

"The right question," Beren said, his voice a bit higher than before, "is not why _I_ did this, but why did _we_ do this?"

All eyes turned to Beren. Balin released Dís's arms. When the Man looked up and saw that he had everyone's attention, he grinned, regaining his composure.

"Now you are wondering who _we_ are, I assume," he said. "I rather wonder that you have not guessed. I meant what I said earlier, my lords—and my lady—there are those among you who speak to the darkness in the night. Those who seem loyal to you, but they know where true power lies. Friends, family, brothers, sisters, spouses. Those who know it is wiser to side with the one who will rule all of Middle-Earth—to side with the Dark Lord."

Beren's eyes shone with an evil light as he spoke. He seemed happy, even giddy, to finally share his thoughts, and as he turned to Denethor, he looked as if he were pleading, inviting his companion to join him. Denethor looked ready to cry, his mouth moving soundlessly as he stared at his friend. Beren slumped a little, as if he were disappointed. His eyes lit on Thorin.

"You cannot trust these people, my lord," he said. "I am not the only one of _us_ among you—I can guarantee that. We are watching. We are waiting. We will stop any uprising against our master, and you are powerless to stop us, just as you were powerless to keep your own heir from being poisoned right under your very nose in the heart of your own kingdom. You _cannot_ stop us. You _will_ not."

Balin's grip tightened on Dís's arm again, but all Dís could do was stare at Beren in horror. How many of his kind were among them? How many Men, Elves, Dwarves? How could this have happened?

Beren surveyed them all and smiled.

"I see I have you all speechless," he said. "Well, since I have the floor, allow me to elaborate, so you can see what you are up against. My master sent an army to this mountain eighteen years ago, as I am sure you remember. Your victory was a fluke, a stroke of luck. You cannot always depend on the wiles of a wandering wizard and his allies, and what chance do you stand against the armies of Mordor without the aid of Thranduil and his army? He will not help you again; you know this. Dale is still small and weak. Their aid will not profit you. Tell me, then, o wise king, whether it is wiser to stand against Sauron or to join him?"

"I will never stand with the _filth_ of Mordor, or its allies," Thorin snarled. "I would sooner die, as would all my kin."

"Ah, your kin," Beren said. "You say this now, but do you _know_ this? Dwarf-kind is not known for its unwavering loyalty to the light. Will Dáin—"

"Shut your mouth!" Dwalin growled suddenly. Beren turned to him, surprised. "You keep your lying mouth shut. I don't want to hear another word. I ought to—"

"Who says I am lying?" Beren interrupted. "I am simply here to show you what you are soon to face."

"Sauron misjudges Middle-Earth if he thinks we have not learned from history," said Balin tersely. "We will stand in alliance against him."

"And yet we are among you," Beren replied. "You cannot keep out the Great Eye; he sees all. His gaze will pierce through rock and stone, through hearts and minds, through—"

Beren's speech was cut off as an entire chair collided with his head with a sickening _crack_. His body slumped and slid out of the seat to the floor, blood immediately trickling down his face. All eyes turned to Denethor, who stood over him, his chest heaving and his eyes shining.

"I trusted him," he said with a wavering voice. "My _father_ trusted him. And now I find that he is a servant of evil."

"Is he dead?" Dís asked in a hushed voice.

Dwalin bent down and held a hand under Beren's nose. He scowled.

"Still alive," he said. "Unfortunately." He stood up and lightly kicked the unconscious Man's boot.

"Take him away," Denethor said, turning his eyes from Beren to the Dwarves around him. He set down the chair. "Do what you will with him. Gondor will honor your judgment."

"Put him in prison for now," Thorin said quietly. "We will deal with him later."

Dwalin and Balin moved in at once and picked up Beren between them. As they left, Denethor lowered himself into the chair he had used to knock out his companion and dropped his head into his hands. Thorin looked uncomfortably to Dís.

"My lord?" she said softly.

"I am sorry," Denethor said into his hands. He wiped his face and looked up at her. "I am so sorry that I have brought this upon your child, my lady. I would never have expected—Beren, he helped _raise_ me—to know that he…" He dropped his head into his hands again and choked back a sob.

Dís looked to Thorin. He looked as doubtful as she. Denethor was so close to Beren, and yet he had never even had a clue? He seemed genuinely upset, but Beren had seemed genuinely concerned for Fíli, too. Dís had been hurt too many times, lost too many people, to trust even the son of the Steward of Gondor blindly, no matter how remorseful he seemed. This alliance, should it stand, would have to be thoroughly tested. She would not let her son be hurt on her watch—not again.

"My lord, my brother and I have much to discuss," she said. "Perhaps if you wish to retire to your room, we can arrange to have some wine sent to you."

Denethor nodded and rose slowly. He trudged out of the room, accompanied by a guard, and then Dís and Thorin were alone. Thorin was staring at the closed door, looking thoughtful.

"A servant of Sauron slips into our midst and poisons our kin to show us how weak we are," he muttered. "How defenseless. How we can't even see it coming."

Without warning, Thorin took hold of a chair and threw it across the room with a shout. It clattered across the floor, and Dís jumped at the sudden outburst. Thorin stood still. There was a moment of silence.

"What are we going to do?" Dís asked.

"That depends on Fíli's recovery," Thorin replied gruffly.

"I think we should have him executed regardless," Dís said. "He is a spy in our midst and a servant of evil. Even if his intentions were not to kill, he still deserves death just for that."

"I would like to take an axe to him immediately," Thorin said, his eyes flashing. "But we should let Fíli and Kíli decide his fate. Beren meant to attack all of us, but Kíli was his target, and Fíli"—Thorin's voice cracked—"Fíli was his victim. We have raised them well. I trust they will judge wisely."

"Then is Beren to stay imprisoned until Fíli recovers?" Dís asked.

"Aye," said Thorin. "Let him _fester_ down there. We will not rush. Surely the rat has lived in comfort his whole life; we will show him how Dwarves treat those who hurt us."

Dís nodded. "And I have yet to see the fear in his eyes."


	8. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look it's 3am! Apparently this is my posting time omg this happens so much. Don't worry, I will be fine. I promise. Extraspecial thanks to madammadhatter for betaing as usual, because she's awesome and always sees things I need to fix and reassures me that the rest is good enough... and I dedicate this chapter to Pericula Ludus because I know she will love how much of a certain someone is in this chapter. 
> 
> A couple notes I almost forgot to mention! One, remember that this is 18 years after The Hobbit, so Bain is a grown-up. If you have trouble picturing that, I've been imagining that guy who played Peter Pevensie as an adult in the first Narnia movie. Not a bad image. Two, reminder that this is in the same AU as The Ghost of Erebor, so if you are like what is Kíli talking about, it's that. Wow this chapter is long and I love it a lot. Read on.

Nála stepped into the dark chambers and closed the door behind herself quietly. The fire was burning low in the hearth; its low crackle was the only sound in he room, and its meager illumination seemed to cast more shadows than light. She looked to the bed in the far corner, where a hint of gold glinted in the firelight, though the figure did not move. In a chair beside the bed sat Óin, his chin dipped into his chest. Nála stepped forward.

"Óin, are you awake?" she asked softly.

Óin did not respond. She moved over to his seat and rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to his ear.

"Óin?" she called, a little louder this time, remembering how little the old Dwarf could hear.

With a startled snort, Óin opened his eyes and looked up. Nála smiled, and he reached up and patted her hand.

"He's been asleep," he said. "As have I, it seems. Not much to do. What is the time?"

"Somewhere around nine-thirty or ten, I believe," Nála replied.

Óin made a disgruntled noise in his throat. "Four hours," he said. "It's only been four hours since I was called to see the poor lad…"

"It feels like it's been days," Nála said, settling down on the bed beside her slumbering fiancé. She took one of his hands in her own. It was comfortingly warm.

"There's not much else I can do for him," said Óin. "What he needs now is rest. And, I imagine, a familiar face if he wakes."

"Thank you for all you have done, Óin," Nála said, looking up at him as he stood and stretched. Then, suddenly, she realized that someone was missing and furrowed her brow. "Where is Kíli?"

From the look on Óin's face, it appeared that Kíli's absence had thus far escaped his notice, as well.

"He _was_ here," he said. "He was stoking the fire when I must have dozed off…"

Nála looked at the dying fire skeptically. Clearly, his heart had not been in it.

"Don't worry about him," Óin said. "He was in a mighty bad mood… you know how he gets."

"You don't think he went after Beren, do you?" Nála asked.

"If he did, Beren had better hope Balin finds him first, or he won't survive the night."

Nála pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide a smile. Óin did not sound like he particularly disapproved of such an action, and she was not sure that she did either, diplomacy aside.

"You've been here for hours," she said. "I'll stay with him; you are clearly exhausted. Go rest."

"My lady, I don't believe it is proper for a young man and lady of the court to—"

"Don't 'my lady' me," Nála said, turning a sharp eye on the apothecary. " _Proper_ , my foot. Honestly, what do you think is going to happen?"

"Still, it isn't—"

"Oh, please, Óin, I think we are a little past propriety and protocol tonight," said Nála, rolling her eyes. "Don't tell me you aren't tired. Fíli is asleep. Nothing inappropriate is going to happen, even if he does wake up." She grinned slyly. "I doubt he is in the mood."

Óin chuckled and shook his head. "I won't tell anyone you said that," he said as he headed for the door. "Take care of him, Nála."

Nála smiled and turned back to Fíli as the door shut behind Óin. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it, and then she set it down and gently moved a messy braid away from his face. Her heart seemed to miss a beat or two, and she smiled at herself; even sick and asleep, even after so many years of loving him, he still could do this to her. Of course, he had not realized how she felt in Ered Luin; only when she had come to Erebor had he suddenly come to feel the same way about her. She bit back a silly grin, remembering that moment when they had both realized that the other felt the same. Really, Óin was probably right to worry about propriety. It wasn't as if the two of them had not been caught too many times in abandoned corridors or dark corners, and though they were wise to be proper enough, they had both had their hands and lips places they probably should not have. She had heard enough lectures from Balin to last her a lifetime. But really, it was Balin and Thorin's fault—if they did not _insist_ on some silly old court rule about marrying age, they could have already been married, but Nála would not be a hundred years old for another three years. They had tried to argue that Fíli was already a hundred, but their arguments had fallen on deaf ears. So if someone turned a corner and found the two of them kissing—well, they could blame the King Under the Mountain and his most trusted advisor for the sight.

For now, though, she was just grateful that he was alive. The thought of losing him was too terrible to even think about. Anger burned in her at that weasel Beren, but she dismissed it quickly; the others would deal with him. She just wanted to be here for Fíli.

She watched his chest rise and fall and frowned, shifting on the bed to sit closer to him. He had looked so frightened… she had never seen him in such a state in all her life—and _she_ had caused it. _She_ had given him that tea with that poison honey, and though Dís had tried to comfort her, the guilt remained. She had seen Fíli upset before, yes, but never like _that_. She was sure that she never wanted to see it again.

With a sigh, she looked to the bedroom door. They were alone, she was sure; the others were all busy. She lowered herself so that her head rested on Fíli's chest, looking up at his face, and drew up her knees. Fíli was alive. He was resting. He would recover. She closed her eyes and listened to the slow beating of his heart.

* * *

 

Kíli was alone. Usually he did not particularly like being alone, but right now, it was welcome.

He looked around for the first time in a while; his feet had been carrying him somewhere, but he had not really been paying attention. The guest quarters, it looked like; specifically where the Men of Dale often stayed when they came to visit. He had been down this way many times to see Bain. Part of him wanted to knock on his friend's door and see if he was there, but at this hour, he probably was, and Kíli was not sure he wanted the company. Instead he trudged past the collection of guest chambers and further down the corridor. He turned a corner and discovered a balcony overlooking the main hall of Erebor. A few chairs and benches were scattered throughout, and he settled down on a bench and looked out into the distance. The far side was shrouded in darkness, though lights twinkled here and there, illuminating the corridors burrowing into the mountain, and a large stairwell rose higher than Kíli could see through the middle of the grand hall, disappearing into nothing; high above, he knew, was the throne of Erebor, a grand and terrifying sight, the Arkenstone shining above it. Green and gold glimmered everywhere, and the torchlight, though low at this hour, illuminated the golden statues encrusted with gemstones that peppered the square, boasting of the riches of the Dwarves of Erebor.

Kíli closed his eyes and wished for the blue stone of Ered Luin and his wooden fiddle.

"Kíli?"

Kíli opened his eyes. Walking towards him was Bain, looking concerned. The young Man stopped before him, and Kíli lowered his gaze.

"Hello, Bain," he muttered.

"What are you doing all the way down here?" Bain asked. "We all heard what happeend to Fíli. I thought you would be with him."

"I…" Kíli started, but his voice cracked, and he shifted his jaw and bowed his head.

"Kíli, is Fíli—"

"He's alive," Kíli interrupted, looking up at Bain. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to frighten you. He is alive."

Bain relaxed his shoulders and nodded. He gestured to the spot beside Kíli.

"Mind if I join you?"

"No, by all means," said Kíli, scooting over to make room. Bain sat down and rested his elbows on his knees, looking unnaturally large on the Dwarven bench. He trained his eyes on Kíli and waited, but Kíli did not say anything.

"What is the matter, Kíli?" Bain asked finally.

Kíli sighed and shook his head lightly, keeping his gaze trained on his boots. He swallowed down the lump building in his throat. Bain's eyes burned into him—he could feel it—but he did not trust himself with words, and the silence stretched on.

After a while, Bain spoke again.

"That's all right," he said, leaning back. "We can just sit for a while. As long as you don't mind my company."

"No, it's fine," Kíli replied softly. "Thanks."

"Of course," said Bain.

They sat quietly together for a while. Kíli studied the display before them, his eyes tracing the striations in the grand Erebor marble. It was beautiful.

"Do you ever miss Lake-town?" he asked.

Bain seemed unprepared for this question. "Uh," he said, "I suppose, sometimes. I don't really miss the cold. Or the smell of fish."

Kíli let loose a half-smile. "Fair enough."

"I miss the simplicity of it, though," Bain continued. "We were just a family in a wooden house on a lake. Now… well, Da is a king. I'm a prince. My sisters are princesses. It's not at all how I expected life to be."

"I know how you feel," Kíli said. "I mean, I've always known I was a prince, but back in Ered Luin, things were so much _simpler_ —there weren't courts and kings and impending war to worry about. It was just… just _home_ , just my family, we we were happy enough, well-off enough, I think. Now there are important alliances to worry about and duties to perform, and"—Kíli's voice cracked—"battles to remember."

Bain was silent for a moment.

"Aye, battles to remember," he agreed quietly.

"Fíli isn't doing well, Bain," Kíli said, finally looking up at his friend. "We didn't tell anyone, for Fíli's sake, but after the battle… Azog nearly killed him. He suffered at that filth's hand. He didn't say a word for five months afterward."

Bain's eyes widened. "I didn't know," he said.

"Yeah, well," Kíli said, looking down again, "it was terrible. I thought I'd lost my brother forever."

"But that was years ago," said Bain. "He has recovered well."

"He had, I thought, but now I don't know," Kíli said. He could feel the tears building in his eyes, and his voice began to wobble. "That poison, Bain—it did something to him. I haven't seen him look like that since the battle, and I can't, I can't…" He dropped his head into his hands. "I know it's not about me, but I just can't do this again. I can't see him like that. I just can't."

"Is that why you are all the way down here?"

Kíli sniffed and nodded. "I left him there asleep. He's not alone… Óin's with him. But they're both asleep. I didn't want Óin to see me leave. I just couldn't stay."

"I'm sorry, Kíli," Bain said, resting a hand on Kíli's shoulder and squeezing. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to," said Kíli, wiping tears off his face. "I probably shouldn't have said anything. I mean, I know you're not involved, but…"

"It's all right," said Bain. "I won't say anything about this to anyone, I swear."

Kíli huffed and smiled. "Thanks."

He breathed a heavy sigh and looked out into the dim room again. Bain offered no further words; he simply sat, one hand firmly on Kíli's shoulder. After a minute or two, he let go, and the two of them remained in silence, side-by-side. The mountain was quiet.

* * *

 

"Nála."

Nála shifted, but she did not open her eyes. She was comfortable; whoever it was could go away.

"Nála, wake up."

A hand touched her shoulder, and she opened her eyes slowly and looked up. Dís was standing over her, a placid smile on her face. Nála blinked.

"What?" she said blearily.

"You fell asleep," said Dís softly. "You should go to bed, love."

Nála suddenly realized where she was and lifted her head. Fíli was still sleeping beneath her; his chest rose and fell under her arms. She ducked her head, feeling heat creep into her cheeks.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," she said sheepishly. "I didn't want to leave him alone."

"It's all right," said Dís. "I know you just want to be here for him. But you know you cannot stay the night in his chambers; even I cannot justify allowing that."

"He's just _sleeping_ ," Nála protested. "You know as well as I—"

"Sometimes, appearances matter more than the truth," said Dís. "I know you care for my son. I know nothing will happen tonight. But it could _appear_ that way to others…"

"He needs me," said Nála, frowning deeply. "If he awakes, someone should be here for him…"

"I will sit with him," Dís said. "You are tired. Go sleep, Nála."

Nála looked down at Fíli. As much as she wanted to argue, she knew that Dís was right. She could not stay. She sighed and bent down, kissing her beloved's brow, and then slid off the bed. She could not wait until the day she did not have to be parted from him.

As she started towards the door, Dís suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce hug. Nála, though surprised, responded in kind; something inside her seemed to break and mend at the same time, and tears sprang to her eyes. She took a shuddering breath and pressed her face into Dís's collarbone; the world disappeared into the comforting smell of woodsmoke and soap and berries. Then, Dís let go, and Nála stepped back, wiping her face. Dís smiled down at her.

"It will be all right, princess," she said softly, brushing a curl behind Nála's ear.

"Thank you," Nála whispered. She stepped past Dís and out of the room, breathing deeply to control her emotions. She had needed that. Fíli would be fine; his mother would take care of him. She would not lose her Fíli.

It was not until she was at home in her bed, nearly asleep, that she realized with a grin that she had never been called _princess_ before.

* * *

 

"How _dare_ you?"

Thranduil was standing, his bright eyes wide and burning with fury, his hands clinging to the table before him. He loomed over the others in the room, some of whom were sitting, some standing, but none were as imposing as the Elvenking in this moment, and certainly none were as furious. His fiery gaze was focused on Thorin, who looked up at him coldly. He would not be intimidated by this Elf and his acts of outrage.

"I will not allow such _vile_ accusations to be made against me and my kind," said Thranduil. He looked around the rectangular table at the others; the three Dwarves—Thorin, Balin, and Dáin—met his gaze, but Denethor kept his head bowed, as he had for most of the meeting in which Thorin and Balin had described the events of the previous evening and the results of their investigation. Bard was looking between the Dwarves and Thranduil warily. Thorongil, however, did not seem daunted. He rose from his seat across from the Elvenking.

"My lord, I am sure no offense was intended," he said calmly. "This is a trying situation. If a Man of such high station in Gondor as Beren is serving Sauron, it would be prudent to—"

"This is no matter of _prudence_ ," Thranduil snarled, fixing his gaze on Thorongil. "This is an accusation, and hardly out of character for _this_ lot. They have often tried to fix me as the villain in their minds when they hardly know the depth of what they speak. I will not be suspected by _children_."

"No one said we suspected you, my lord," said Balin cautiously. "But Beren did say that he was not alone among us, and we have to consider that there are those among any of us who may be serving alongside him."

"Perhaps there are those who serve Sauron among _you_ , but my own people are loyal and would never side with evil," Thranduil retorted. "You are ill-learned in history if you believe that danger comes from my realm or from any Elf."

"Please, my lord, sit down," Thorongil pleaded.

Thranduil glared at him, but Thorongil did not budge; he merely stared back, his grey eyes soft and sad. A swell of emotion seemed to pass over Thranduil's face, and then it was gone. He and Thorongil sat.

"As I was saying," said Balin, casting a glance over at Thorin, "it seems that the Dark Lord has infiltrated even the high ranks, and I would guess that Beren was an underling of low worth. He seemed almost eager to be found out, which seems to be a bad strategy for someone Sauron would seek to preserve. That begs the question—how many are out there? Who can we trust? It seems best to look inward and investigate our own people."

"How will you find them?" Denethor said, lifting his head to finally look at the leaders around him. "I have known Beren as long as I can remember. He has served my father since before I was born, and we never knew…"

"A matter I find curious," Dáin piped in. "How do we know you are telling the truth?"

"By Elbereth, _Gondor_ requested this meeting!" said Denethor irritably. "Why would we come all the way to Erebor to arouse suspicion? I assure you, Gondor is a greater target than the kingdoms here in the north for the Dark Lord."

"I can think of a battle not long ago that tells a different story," said Thorin. "Why waste time with Erebor if Gondor is supposedly the jewel for Sauron's crown?"

"You forget that Beren was among us then, too," Denethor replied. "I do not know when he began serving Sauron, but the Dark Lord could have been among us even then. And Erebor was not a kingdom then, but a ruin beneath a mountain, no more than a hole for a worm. Defeating that dragon"—he nodded respectfully to Bard—"set an opportunity before him; seize the mountain and its riches, claim its position, and watch the world fall at his feet."

"You have been talking to Gandalf, it seems," said Bard. "I heard him say the same then."

"Mithrandir is a trusted advisor in the White Tower," said Denethor. "But the fact remains that _then_ , Erebor was an easy target; now it is fortified again. I would not be surprised if he has messengers within or without this mountain; he must be eager to arm his orcs with Dwarven finery. He has done so in the past."

"Are you suggesting that Durin's Folk would side with the enemy?" asked Dáin.

"You were quick to assume the same of the Elves," Thranduil snapped, glaring at him, the fire quickly rekindling in his eyes.

"And what makes your kind excepted from such an _offense_?" Dáin retorted.

"The fact that unlike Dwarves and Men, my kind have _never_ sided with the enemy," said Thranduil, rising again from his seat. "You may not know the past, or even choose to forget it, but we are not afforded such a luxury." He moved to the head of the table opposite Thorin and pressed his hands into the marble, leaning forward.

Thorin studied him warily; the last time he had seen the Elvenking in such a state had been in the Woodland Realm when he had questioned his honor. That day he had also seen a horrifying sight—half the flesh on the Elf's face gone, it seemed, and then a moment later, restored to its pristine state, not even a trace remaining. Sometimes Thorin still thought he must have imagined it. Now he was not sure.

"I am not young like you," Thranduil said to the folk around the table. "I have seen many things that would destroy the heart of Man or Dwarf. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall; I have seen great armies rise against the Dark Lord and come together to defeat him. Yes, I can see now that you all have conveniently forgotten that I was there. I fought in the battle of the Last Alliance alongside my father and I saw many of the great generals of that alliance fall. My own father was among them."

At this, Thranduil stopped, and to Thorin's great amazement, it seemed that he was fighting to control tears. He realized with a pang that this great Elf had seen greater losses than even he had in his unhappy experience; a sense of shame rose in his heart. Thranduil was haughty and aloof, to be sure, but clearly still touched by the agony of the ages. Thorin suddenly felt very young in his presence.

"I am not mortal," Thranduil said finally. "I am bound to this earth for as long as it exists, as are all my kind. We do not forget what the enemy has done to us, and we are not allowed the freedom of death to save us from such a grave mistake as following him. I have seen many Men and Dwarves on the side of the enemy. You would do well to examine your own people, but as for mine, we will do as we have done. We will keep away from _you_."

Thranduil straightened and turned, leaving the room with long strides. The others rose and called out to him, including Thorin, but he did not listen. Thorongil ran after him, but Thranduil had already pushed through the heavy doors with ease and disappeared from sight; they swung shut as Thorongil reached them, and he stopped, looking up at them and running a hand through his hair. He turned back to the group.

"I do not think he is coming back," he said.

"What will we do now?" said Bard as Thorongil rejoined them at the table. "Thranduil is a powerful and necessary ally."

"And a supposedly incorruptible one, as well," Balin mused.

"You do not give him the credit he is due," said Thorongil. "I have spent much of my time with the Elves; I lived in Rivendell for a time, and I was taught much of their history as a lad. I am also friends with King Thranduil's son Legolas. What he says is true. The Elves never have and never will side with Sauron. I am sure of it."

"He gives us no credit, either," said Dáin. "Durin's Folk fought in the Last Alliance as well under Durin IV. We have not turned to darkness, either."

"Not Durin's Folk, perhaps, but many Dwarves did," Thorongil replied. "As did many Men. We can see from recent events that at least in the case of my own kind, we have not yet learned our lesson."

The group reflected upon these words. Thorin was not inclined to think that his own people would betray him; not now. He had just reclaimed their homeland, and the spirits of his people were high. But these Men… they were a different story. He knew that a Man had defeated Sauron, but that Man had also been responsible for the loss of the One Ring, a great aid to the enemy's power. What if Gondor had not lost it after all? What if they knew where it was? Such a find would prove disastrous for all the peoples of Middle-Earth. And even if they did not have it, he had already seen the power of Sauron without his precious Ring, and it was already a force to be reckoned with. He could not let his kingdom fall into the hands of these Men who could not even discern friend from foe.

"How can we protect ourselves from the enemy if we cannot even protect ourselves from our own?" said Bard grimly.

Thorin crossed his arms and nodded. "How can we trust those in power if they are listening to the counsel of those who submit to the enemy?"

Denethor stood abruptly, his brow furrowed.

"What are you saying?" he demanded.

"My lords, please," said Thorongil, rising and holding out his hands entreatingly. "This is no time to insult one another."

Thorin's eyes fell on the tall Ranger, and he felt a sudden rise of suspicion. "And how can we know that they truly stand with us if they cannot even bother to send one of their own, for that matter?"

Thorongil looked taken aback. "I am a servant of both Gondor and Rohan," he said. "I am a trusted advisor to King Thingol _and_ Lord Ecthelion…"

"We have seen the merit of Lord Ecthelion's advisors," Thorin retorted. "And why would King Thingol send a Ranger over one of his own? Does he actually _care_ about this meeting?"

"I assure you, King Thingol cares very much," Thorongil said fervently. "That is why he sent me as a delegate alongside many of his trusted men—"

"And how long have you known the king?" asked Balin.

Thorongil deflated a little. "Two years…"

"How is that long enough to merit such high trust?" Balin demanded, gesturing at the Ranger. "For all we know, _you_ could be a spy in our camp!"

"I am _not_ a spy of the enemy," Thorongil said, standing to his full height and looking down at Balin stormily. His grey eyes flashed. "Sauron is no friend to my people. If you believe nothing else I say, believe that."

Thorin eyed him skeptically. In his experience, the Rangers were a good people, but Gondorians were also supposed to be good, and Fíli's current condition proved that was not always the case. Thorongil met his gaze, and then he let out an exasperated sigh and looked up at the ceiling.

"Can none of you see that you are playing directly into the enemy's hand?" he cried, throwing his arms out wide. "He does not want you to join together against him. He is planting seeds of doubt in your minds, shadows of suspicion against each other—he is putting wedges between us so that conquering us is easy! You cannot let him win!"

Silence followed this outburst. Thorin, for one, was torn. The young Man had a point; it would be easier to defeat individual kingdoms than to come against a mighty alliance that stretched from the Grey Mountains down to the River Harnen. And yet trust had led to the disaster he was now facing. Could he justify his bias against these Men in the face of the threat of Sauron? Was Fíli's life dearer to him than the future of Middle-Earth?

"We have already possibly lost the support of Thranduil, my lords," Thorongil said quietly. "We cannot afford that, and we certainly cannot afford anything more."

"I agree," said Denethor. "Do not give up on Gondor. We will search high and low for any signs of a cult of Sauron among our people and remove them. I have already given Beren over into the hands of Erebor; justice will be done, I am sure."

He looked to Thorin, who nodded seriously.

"We have time still," said Thorin. "Beren will be dealt with. In the meantime, we will have to bring Thranduil around again; that will not be easy. Bard, Thorongil, I am sure he trusts you more than any of the rest of us. I hope you can help in that regard."

"I would do whatever I could to get him back with us," said Bard seriously. Thorongil nodded in agreement.

"Well," said Thorin, rising from his seat, "this has been both productive and a complete disaster. I hope the next time we meet will be more of the former and less of the latter."

The others rose as well, and they respectfully said their goodbyes. The Men departed, leaving Thorin, Balin, and Dáin behind. Dáin looked chagrined, and Balin was deep in thought.

"I am going to check on Fíli," Thorin said, rubbing at his brow. "You two are free to go wherever you please."

"Do ye really think we can trust these Men, Thorin?" Dáin asked.

Thorin raised his eyebrows and sighed. "I don't know," he said. "Clearly not all of them. But we will discover who is a true friend or foe through time and effort, I believe."

"And hopefully not make too many mistakes in the process," Balin mused.

"Hopefully not," Thorin agreed. "Excuse me."

Thorin left the room and started on his way to his family's chambers, deep in thought. The morning had thus far been a completely disaster, but if Fíli was doing all right, maybe the day would not be a total loss. He could only hope that they would recover from the losses they had already allowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My, how exciting! So much happening. What will happen next? Stay tuned.
> 
> Speaking of Pericula Ludus, if you haven't read her fics, you should. You should read all of them. I finally read [No Sacrifice](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2407106), which took me forever because I am a bad friend, but oh my God guys it's so good please go read it if you haven't. Bring a box of tissues though. You'll need it.
> 
> Don't forget to review! And thanks for all your congratulations and stuff last chapter, that was so nice, but also don't forget to comment on the story! :P


	9. Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was fun to write. I channeled my inner Faulkner for this chapter, so if you're confused, that's okay. That's how you're supposed to feel. You're doing just fine. If you want to decipher it, feel free to reread, or just ask me questions and I will gladly answer them.
> 
> Much love and hugs to Nalbal for her incredible help with this chapter—she actually wrote a couple lines of it, to tell you the truth, especially when it comes to Flán's dialogue, as he is her character in the first place. She also beta'd most of it on top of that. Much love as well to Pericula Ludus, who was also instrumental in the development of this chapter. Honestly, I don't know how people write without friends to discuss things with. Whoever said writing is a lonely profession was wrong.

_Nála's eyes_

_Kíli's eyes_

_fear in their eyes_

Fíli stirred. Darkness surrounded him, enveloped him. Not ready to let him out. He rose, he fell, he did not move.

_Kíli's eyes_

He was so sore… his arms, legs, all of him.

_Kíli?_

His throat burned.

_not Kíli_

_no_

The darkness ebbed. Dark, but inviting. He sank into it.

_Azog_

He started. Fire crackling. The smell of pipe-weed.

_metal on metal_

_knife on bone_

_pipe-weed?_

He opened his eyes. Dark curtains above him. He looked to his right; Thorin was there, smoking his pipe, his gaze focused on Fíli. Fíli closed his eyes again.

_Nála's eyes_

_fear in her eyes_

"It's all right, lad," came Thorin's voice from outside. "Take your time."

_eighteen years_

_time_

_Azog_

He forced his eyes open again. Blinked a few times, slowly. Lifted his head. Pain swarmed through his skull, and he let out a strained noise. He dropped his head back onto his pillow.

_not Azog_

_can't be_

_eighteen years_

He kept his eyes open. Could feel Thorin looking at him. He had never found waking up easy. The heaviness of sleep still had its fingers in him.

_he's not there_

_it's not real_

_make it stop make it stop make it stop_

"No," Fíli grunted, pushing himself up, pushing himself awake. His sore arms quivered at the sudden movement. Thorin leaned forward, but he did not interfere.

"You all right, lad?" he asked.

Fíli drew up his knees and ran his hands through his hair. He scanned the room for others, but as far as he could see, they were alone. His shoulders dropped, and he let go of his hair and scratched his knee. His throat was so raw.

"I'm thirsty," he said softly.

"Of course," said Thorin, springing into action. He already had a glass on the nightstand, and he handed it over. Fíli drank it all.

_he must be seeing something_

_don't just look at him_

He handed the glass back to his uncle and wiped his lips. Still raw, but better. He looked down at his sleeves and furrowed his brow. He did not remember putting this shirt on.

_you just had a seizure_

_do you remember that_

Heat crept into his cheeks. They must have dressed him while he was unconscious. He knew what that meant.

"How do you feel, Fíli?" Thorin asked.

_Nála's eyes_

_Nála_

_can you find Nála_

"Fíli?"

He blinked and looked at Thorin. Why did everyone always want him to _talk_? His uncle was searching his eyes, and he let him.

"You've been asleep for a long time," said Thorin finally. "About fourteen hours, I believe. It's eleven in the morning."

That _was_ a long time. Yesterday had been exhausting, though. And horrible.

_Kíli's eyes_

_fear in his eyes_

_he has been poisoned_

"The honey," he said abruptly. "It was the honey. I took it out of the basket—"

"From Beren, yes, we know," Thorin interrupted. "He has already been arrested. His judgment waits on you and Kíli."

Fíli frowned. Beren? The Man from Gondor? He had been so kind…

"But do not worry about that now," Thorin continued. "That can wait. I want to make sure _you_ are all right first." He looked Fíli over warily. "If you still feel poorly, I can bring Óin to you…"

Fíli lowered his gaze. Of course he still felt poorly—but not as poorly as yesterday. He wanted Nála. She wouldn't make him talk. She would just sit with him.

_Fíli you're scaring me_

_please say something_

_please Fíli talk to me_

_Fíli please just talk to me_

He heard Thorin say something, but whatever it was, he missed it. He stared at the quilt covering his legs.

_stay here_

_search the lower levels_

_I've got this_

"Fíli, did you hear me?"

He blinked rapidly and looked up at Thorin, startled. His uncle was frowning deeply.

"I asked if there was anything you wanted right now," said Thorin. "Anything at all."

_I thought he was getting better_

_fear in her eyes_

"Nála," Fíli replied. "I want Nála."

* * *

Nála had a book in her lap, but she was not looking at it.

She was looking at the wall, actually, and her mind was not on the book or the wall. She was thinking of Fíli, as she had been since Dís had told her to go home the night before. Of course, he was in good hands with his family, but how was he feeling? Had he awoken?

"So is the book _really_ boring, or is the wall just _really_ interesting?"

Nála's focus came back to the present, and she looked up; her brother Flán was standing beside her, grinning. She tried to smile back, but from the look on Flán's face, she had not quite succeeded. His grin disappeared.

"Thinking about Fíli?" he asked, sitting on the arm of the chair.

She nodded. "I know he needs to rest, but I just… I wonder how he is. I want to be there for him."

"He'll be all right, sissy," said Flán, wrapping an arm around her. "Fíli has always been strong. I don't doubt he will come through just fine."

"I've never seen him like that, Flán," she said, looking up at him. "He looked so frightened."

"Hm," Flán said. He looked away and said nothing more. Nála narrowed her eyes.

"You are hiding something from me," she said.

Flán looked back to her, his eyes wide. "No," he said. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I know _you_ ," she replied. "There is something you aren't telling me, and I want to know what it is."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Flán. He started to rise, but Nála grabbed his arm and glared at him fiercely.

"Flán, I am going to marry this boy, and you are clearly keeping something about him from me. Why?"

Flán looked down at his sister with sad eyes, any trace of levity gone.

"Because there are some things better left unsaid, sissy," he said.

Nála furrowed her brow and did not let go of his arm. "What does that mean?"

"It means stop asking me questions," Flán said irritably, pulling his arm out of her grip and hopping off the arm of the chair.

Just then, there was a knock on the front door. Flán walked past without answering it.

"Flán, get the door," Nála said.

"Get it yourself," he retorted, continuing on his original path to the kitchen. Nála sighed and rolled her eyes, setting down her book and getting up.

"You're just as mature as the day you were born, you know that?" she called to him as he left the room.

"That's because I've been the most mature since day one!" Flán called back.

Nála rolled her eyes again and opened the door. It was Thorin. Nála stared, momentarily at a loss for words. Thorin had never come to her home before; she _was_ engaged to Fíli, and Flán was one of Fíli and Kíli's best friends, but that had never warranted the King taking time out of his own schedule to come see them. His eyes were grave. She frowned.

"Fíli is awake," Thorin said finally. "He is asking for you. Will you come?"

Nála blinked. "Of course," she said. "I'm sorry—of course, yes. How is he?"

"I will tell you on the way there," said Thorin. "Come."

Nála ran back to retrieve her shawl from the back of her chair, and then she and Thorin were on their way. Thorin walked quickly, and Nála nearly had to jog to keep up with his long stride.

"He isn't speaking much," Thorin said in a low voice. "As far as I can tell, he is feeling better, though I think he is a bit sore and weak."

"What has he said?" asked Nála.

Thorin sighed. "I'm more concerned about what he _isn't_ saying," he said.

Nála looked sidelong at Thorin. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Thorin was silent for a moment. Then he said, "You will have to talk to him. See if he opens up to you."

A ball of frustration rose in Nála's chest. What was this big secret, and why were they keeping it from _her_ , of all people? She wanted to stop and shake Thorin until he answered her questions, but that was probably not the best idea. Besides, Fíli wanted to see her. She could only hope that he would not be as secretive as her brother and Thorin.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Soon they had reached the royal wing, and Thorin knocked on Fíli's door and peered in; a moment later, he opened the door wide and gestured in. Nála entered slowly, not quite sure what to expect. Inside Fíli was sitting on the stool in front of his washbasin, staring into the mirror. He did not seem to have noticed the two of them arriving. Nála looked at Thorin.

 _See if you can get him to leave his room,_ he signed.

She nodded and turned back to Fíli. He was still staring into the mirror and did not see her approach; in fact, he did not seem to notice her at all until she stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. His far-off gaze returned to the present, and their eyes connected through the reflection in the mirror. She smiled.

"Hello, Fíli," she said gently.

He pressed his cheek into the back of her hand and closed his eyes. She pulled her hand off his shoulder and stepped around in front of him, and he looked up at her soulfully.

"How are you feeling, my love?" she asked.

Instead of answering, Fíli leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head against her. Nála embraced him in return and then kissed the top of his head. After a few moments, she drew back and lifted his face.

"You have been in this room for a long time," she said. "How about we get out of here? We'll go sit in the parlor by the fire."

Fíli searched her eyes for a moment silently, looking unsure, and then he nodded. Nála took his hands and pulled him to his feet; he stood close, his nose nearly touching hers. His eyes trailed down to her lips, and Nála, conscious of Thorin watching, leaned back and turned her head towards the door. Fíli followed her gaze and, seeing his uncle, stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, his cheeks reddening. Nála kept hold of his other hand and tugged him towards the door.

"Come on," she said.

Fíli followed her out of the room and past Thorin, who looked impressed. She led him to the parlor, which was not far, and they settled down together on the couch. Fíli curled up and leaned into her heavily, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, and she rested her cheek on the top of his head, frowning. Thorin nodded to them from the door and departed, leaving the two of them alone. Nála stared out absentmindedly, gently stroking Fíli's arm. Something was weighing heavily on his mind; she suspected it had to do with whatever everyone else was hiding from her, but Fíli did not seem to be in the mood to talk. Minutes passed in silence.

Just when she had started to think he had fallen back asleep, Fíli spoke.

"Were you there when I… Óin said I had a seizure," he said. "Did you…?"

"Aye, I was there," she said.

Fíli groaned and bowed his head. She chuckled and kissed his temple lightly.

"It's all right," she said. "You couldn't help it."

"And after?" Fíli said into her collarbone. "With the…" He stopped, and his grip tightened on her leg. "Seeing things…"

Nála frowned. "I was there for that, too," she said. "Don't you remember?"

Fíli let out a shuddering breath and did not answer. Nála bit her lip. She knew that Fíli preferred to let things out at his own pace, but curiosity was eating away at her, and _something_ was eating away at him. She brushed his braids behind his ear and then lifted his chin until he was looking at her, and then she gently pressed her lips to his; he responded in kind, drawing himself closer to her and opening his mouth to allow her further access. Instead of deepening the kiss, Nála drew back, and Fíli made a discontented noise in the back of his throat and looked up at her.

"Fíli, what did you see?" she asked.

He shook his head and leaned in again. "Why don't you just kiss me instead?" he whispered, closing the space between them.

Nála allowed him a small kiss before pulling back again. He looked at her miserably.

"Please, Nála," he said. "I… I need you to just… sit with me. For now. Please?"

"But why can't you—"

"Don't," said Fíli, his eyes widening. "Nála, please—I can't—everyone always wants me to _talk_ about it, and I…" He paused and pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "My head—it's a mess right now—I can barely focus as it is… so… please."

Fíli opened his eyes, and a stone seemed to drop in Nála's stomach as she looked into them. They were shining, pleading, but there was something else there, too—a wavering, somehow, like he was looking at her and not looking at her at the same time, there and at the same time far away. It scared her. She wanted to know—needed to know—but the look in his eyes said that he was not ready to tell her.

"All right," she said. "We won't talk about that." She bit her lip. "Just… focus on me."

She leaned in and kissed him softly, and he melted into her. It was soft, and she could feel the relief coursing through him.

But then it was something different. His lips on hers were strong, seeking, desperate, and one hand was moving through her hair, the other on her leg, and she leaned back as Fíli plundered her mouth, his tongue exploring, her own responding, and the room began to fade away—

"Oh, Mahal, _honestly_ …"

Fíli and Nála broke apart hastily and sat up, looking towards the door. Kíli was turning around to leave.

"Don't mind me," he said. "I just wanted to see how Fíli was doing… looks like you're _just fine_ …"

"I'm sorry, Kíli," Nála called. "We didn't mean to—"

"You never mean to," said Kíli, giving the both of them an exasperated look. "But when you don't ever _stop_ , someone's going to catch you." He tapped on the doorframe and looked to Fíli. "How are you feeling, brother?"

Fíli looked at his brother, and Nála furrowed her brow as some sort of silent communication went between the two of them. Here was that _thing_ again. Kíli seemed to be looking for something that she could not decipher; something about the way he looked, the way he stood, made him seem like he was on the defensive, like he was used to being denied. Apprehensive.

When she looked at Fíli, she was baffled. One of the things that made their relationship so easy was that they always seemed to be on the same page, and it only took a look for them to come to an understanding. Now, she could understand that something was distracting him, pulling him from the present to somewhere else, but where that was, she did not know. Wherever it was, it was not a good place; it kept him quiet, withdrawn, trying to avoid it and yet it was all he could think about. She had felt it in that kiss. Usually, his kisses were spurred by longing, adoration, impatience; this time, it felt like when he leaned into her, he was trying to leave something behind, drawing the present from her lips.

The only piece missing was that very something he was so desperate to get away from. Curiosity was burning through her, but neither Fíli nor Kíli seemed to be volunteering any information, no matter how hard she looked. That faraway look grew stronger in Fíli's eyes, and finally, he looked away and leaned back into Nála.

"I'll pull through," he said quietly.

Nála started stroking his hair and looked up at Kíli, concerned. He was staring at his big brother, wide-eyed; then he abruptly turned and left the room without a word.

"Goodness," she mused, looking down at Fíli. "What was that about?"

"Nála, please," Fíli whispered, closing his eyes.

So she wasn't going to get answers any time soon, it seemed. She kissed the top of Fíli's head and let him rest.

Her mind was stirring with questions. What was it that he—and everyone else—was keeping from her? Why was it such a secret, and why did everyone seem to know except her? She looked down at Fíli's golden head and frowned. Whatever it was, she hoped he knew that he could trust her to stay at his side through anything. Fíli would open up to her soon; he wouldn't keep secrets from her for long.

Would he?

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this now?"

"Aye, it's fine," Fíli replied. He looked up at Thorin; his uncle was looking back at him with a strange look in his eye. He recognized that look, and he hated it. It was not exactly fear, but it was not exactly a look of care, either; he was considering Fíli as something delicate and fragile, something to be handled lightly. He had seen it many times over the years.

Well, perhaps he was right.

"There is no harm in delaying judgment, my boy," said Thorin. "That Man can rot in prison for as long as we desire. Gondor has given us the right to do as we see fit."

"Perhaps it is better that he does sit for a while," Kíli added, plopping down in an armchair by the fire. "Make him realize that his life isn't going to be so comfortable anymore."

_eyes_

_so many eyes_

_this is how they will all remember you_

Fíli took Nála's hand. Here. He was here.

"Tell me why he did it," he said.

Thorin and Kíli exchanged looks. Fíli shifted his jaw as frustration bubbled up within him. He was having a difficult time, yes, but he was not made of glass.

_heart beating_

_head beating_

_beating beating_

He tightened his grip on Nála's hand, and she rested a hand on his knee. His shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes.

What _was_ he made of?

 _Focus._ He opened his eyes.

"He is a servant of evil," said Thorin. "Of Sauron himself. The enemy wanted to show his hand, to show us that we are vulnerable even in our own domain… that even as we plan to unite, he can put a wedge between us. The goal was to poison Kíli, but it does not seem to have bothered him that it was you instead. Either way, his purpose is complete." Thorin scowled. "To show us how easy it is for him to infiltrate our ranks."

He had certainly proved that point. Fíli looked to Kíli.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"Execution," Kíli replied immediately. "He is a danger to others. Even if we imprison him, he still has a tongue. He can still get others to his side. And even if he doesn't, if we keep him in solitary confinement… he may garner a following. People will talk, make up stories. It is better if we show our strength now."

"But you can only kill a person, not an idea," said Fíli. "He will die, but his legacy will remain."

"Are you saying we should let him live?" Kíli asked, looking at his brother critically.

"No," said Fíli defensively. "Not necessarily…"

"Do you have a different idea, Fíli?" asked Thorin.

 _Did_ he have a different idea? Fíli looked down and considered.

_keep low_

_out of sight_

_do not engage_

"Fíli?"

_light ahead_

_light behind_

_no way out_

"Fíli, hey, come back to us."

Fíli blinked rapidly, pulling himself back. Kíli was crouching in front of him, his eyes fraught with concern. For a few moments, there was silence, but Kíli never broke his gaze.

"What's on your mind, Fee?" he asked gently.

"I'm sorry," Fíli whispered, looking from Kíli to Thorin. "I'm sorry, I'm trying, I really am…"

"Do you need to count?" Kíli asked. "Would that help?"

Fíli merely glared at his brother. Yes, it probably would help. But in front of _Nála_ … She didn't know—he had never told her. He had never _wanted_ to tell her. But how could he? How could he allow her to know that he was not as strong as she thought him to be—that he was a warrior haunted by war?

"Can someone tell me what is going on, please?" asked Nála beside him. A jolt of panic went through him as he turned and looked at her. He could feel Kíli's eyes on him, and he bowed his head.

"I'm fine," he ground out. "What were we talking about?"

_fear in their eyes_

_go_

_run_

He felt Nála's thumb pressed into his palm, moving in small circles. He looked at it, then up at her. She smiled softly.

"Good," said Kíli. Fíli wondered what he had said before; he must have missed something. "Now help him count on his fingers. He knows what to do."

Fíli glared at Kíli again.

"I am sure he knows how to count," said Nála, raising an eyebrow.

"Trust me," said Kíli. "Fíli, focus."

Fíli grimaced, but he did not see a way out of this. Not one that ended with him firmly rooted in the present. He looked down at his hand again; Nála had closed his fist, and she lifted one finger.

"One," she said, looking up at him curiously.

Fíli shifted his jaw.

_snow swirling_

_bones burning_

_ice and fire_

"Fíli, come on," said Kíli. "There is no need to be stubborn about this."

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. Kíli was right. He was tired of this, and he needed help. Keeping secrets would only make it worse.

Nála was still holding out his pointer finger.

"One," she repeated.

"Azog is dead," he said quietly.

He heard the gasp, but he did not look at her. He kept his gaze focused on his hand wrapped in hers. She lifted another finger.

"T-two."

"He cannot hurt me."

Another finger. "Three?"

"I survived."

One more. "Four."

"I am safe."

She lifted his thumb. There was a pause.

"Five."

"My family is safe," Fíli whispered. Azog was dead. He could not hurt him. He had survived. He was safe. His family was safe.

Were they safe?

"Execution," he said abruptly, looking up at Thorin. "He must be executed—soon. He cannot be allowed to live. No one is safe while he draws breath."

Thorin stared at Fíli for a few moments. Then he looked to Kíli.

"You are in agreement, Kíli?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Kíli replied. "We may not stamp out the will of the Dark Lord, but we can remove one wedge he tries to put between us."

"All right," said Thorin, crossing his arms and looking at his nephews. "If that is your final decision, I will inform Balin so we may give Denethor a chance to appeal."

Fíli frowned at Thorin. "A chance to appeal?"

"I doubt he will, but it would be a diplomatic courtesy to give him the chance," Thorin replied. He searched Fíli's eyes. "Will you be all right?"

Nála's thumb was pressing small circles into his palm again. "I'll manage," he said.

Thorin nodded and departed. Kíli pulled himself up from his crouch and stood before Fíli and Nála.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

"You don't have to," Fíli replied. He knew what Kíli was doing, and he did not enjoy being strong-armed into things by his little brother.

"I think I'll go," said Kíli. "Leave you two alone for a while… just remember you're not in private. This room doesn't even have a door."

"Oi," said Fíli, glaring at him as a blush crept over his cheeks.

Kíli smirked and winked at Nála, who quickly looked away. Fíli rolled his eyes.

"I'll get going, then," Kíli said. He started towards the door, but then he stopped and turned back around, his expression suddenly serious.

"Fíli, you should tell her," he said. "I think you know that."

Fíli did not respond. A few moments passed, and Kíli left. The room was silent. Nála moved closer, never letting go of his hand; she pressed a kiss to his temple and then leaned in close to his ear.

"I don't like you keeping secrets," she said. "Not from me."

Fíli took a deep breath. Didn't she already know enough? Did he have to tell her more?

Nála took his face in her hands and turned him to look at her. Her eyes were green as jade and hard as diamonds.

"I've loved you nearly all my life," she said. "Through absolutely everything. Do you really think there is something you can tell me that will make me stop loving you?"

Fíli leaned forward and kissed her. He did believe her—he would be a fool not to—but he did not know how she would react. She would still love him, but would she treat him differently? Would she see him as an invalid or something delicate? He wanted to savor one last kiss, one last taste of this, before he told her.

Finally he pulled back and touched his forehead to hers. There was silence between them for a long time, but Nála did not move, and she did not speak. He could feel her waiting.

"All right," he said. "All right… here goes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left, I think. Don't quote me on that.
> 
> All memories in italics are taken from either BotFA or one of my own fics, namely Ice and Fire and The Ghost of Erebor. See if you can spot the references. ;)
> 
> My apologies to Amanda, who knows the couple Fíli and Nála's gross love is partly based on. Sorry for making you witness it yet again. I can't believe I wrote this much kissing. What the heck. My apologies to the rest of you, too.
> 
> Please review! I read somewhere once that people actually think that us fanfic writers don't want long reviews because that would be rude or something. That is very very very not true. You could write me a novel-length analysis and I would soak up every word.


	10. The Shadow Passes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's been a while. I've been busy with important and also non-important things. I'd explain but there's too much and you don't care. Let's just say I've taken a management position at work but I'm also on season 7 of Friends. Among many other reasons and excuses.
> 
> It's been so long that I feel a recap is in order so you don't have to start completely over in order to remember what's going on. You can skip ahead to the chapter if you remember/don't care. Basically, Fíli got poisoned and it was really bad. Investigation into who was responsible began. Then Nála accidentally re-poisoned him, because it turns out that the poison was mad honey, which can cause stomach pain, vomiting, tingling in the extremities, tremors, convulsions, coma, and death. Well, Fíli got all but the last two, and the seizure took a lot out of him. He's a little messed up right now. But the good news is, they figured out who gave him the mad honey—it was in a gift basket from Beren, young Denethor's advisor (Denethor isn't a jerk yet) to Kíli, actually, but they traded and Fíli has a sweet tooth so that was a problem. So Beren has been arrested and Fíli and Kíli decided the safest thing to do would be to execute him.
> 
> Okay, now you're caught up. Read my monster chapter.

Denethor's face was pale.

"Execution?" he said in a hushed tone. "That is what they have decided?"

"Aye, my lord," said Balin, taking care to look appropriately remorseful. "But if you wish to appeal their decision, Erebor will consider the alternative you offer. Beren is a Man of Gondor, and we will, of course, honor your input."

Denethor considered this. Balin gave him time; he knew that _he_ agreed with Fili and Kili's judgment, but Denethor had said he had known Beren since he was a lad. It would not be easy for him to condemn a beloved friend and mentor to death.

Finally, Denethor took a deep breath and looked back to Balin with shining eyes.

"What if I could convince him to renounce his alliance with Sauron?" he said. "He would still pay a penalty for his crime, of course, but perhaps his life could be spared."

Balin pursed his lips. He doubted that was possible.

"Just let me speak to him," Denethor pleaded. "I have to try—I cannot let him die without offering him this chance."

"Very well," said Balin. "But we cannot allow him many days to turn. Fíli and Kíli believe that if he is allowed to live, he will gain followers, and none of us want that. If he will renounce his loyalty, he must do it now. He has _one_ chance, and if he refuses, we follow through with our original plan. Agreed?"

Denethor took a deep breath and nodded.

"Follow me, then," Balin said, and he turned to exit the room. Denethor followed him silently down, far down into the mountain, where prisoners were kept away from the light and far from the gates. The stone turned from the elegant, smooth green marble of the upper halls into unassuming dark rock that glistened with moisture; an underground waterway could be heard distantly through the icy stone. A smell of mildew and a long history of wet surrounded them, and there was no warmth in the air. The torches were few and far between, giving just enough light to get from one to the other. Eventually the torches grew in frequency again, and they finally reached the prison cells. The guards let them in, and Balin turned to Denethor.

"You are sure you want to speak to him?" he asked.

Denethor nodded and swallowed, his eyes wide. Balin led him the rest of the way through the shadows. He stopped before a cell delved into the rock. A single torch outside illuminated the small space, and a pair of fine boots were barely visible in the far corner.

"Go ahead, my lord," Balin said, gesturing forward. "Take as much time as you need." He instantly regretted those words. Denethor was likely to try to reason with Beren until a Fourth Age came upon Middle-earth.

Denethor nodded and stepped forward cautiously.

"Beren?" he called in a small voice.

The pair of boots moved. The legs unfolded, and slowly, Beren emerged into the torchlight. A white bandage stained with red glowed around his head. He took hold of the bars, seemingly in an attempt to steady himself. His expression, however, was placid. The corners of his lips turned up mirthlessly.

"Denethor," he said. "I have been waiting for you all day—or, what I think is a day. I cannot tell down here."

"H-how do you feel?" Denethor asked.

Beren shifted, and his visage hardened. "Like someone hit me over the head with a chair and then had me locked in a cold, damp cell for a day."

Denethor took a deep breath. Beren grinned wickedly.

"Feeling remorse?" he asked. "You probably should. After all I've done for you—"

"You poisoned the Crown Prince of Erebor and admitted to serving the Dark Lord," Denethor interrupted, his voice harsh. "Do not act like what you did was of no consequence."

"I was merely showing the might of my master," Beren replied coolly. "Surely you can see that it was in the name of the greater good."

"The greater _good_?" Denethor said incredulously. "You are the one who taught me the history of the Second Age, Beren! You know the damage he caused, the lives that were lost, the kings and lords who were destroyed before him!"

"Yes, I do," replied Beren with a gleam in his eye. "I also know how he was defeated—through a great alliance, the like of which will never again be seen in this world. Tell me, how do you expect to stand against him this time?"

Denethor recoiled from the cell. "This is madness," he said. "You have gone mad."

"I am perfectly within my wits," Beren hissed, pressing his face into the bars. "It is _you_ who is mad, clinging to your foolishness. I am the same man you have always known! Can you not see that?"

"The man I knew was a _lie_!" Denethor shouted. "A filthy lie! You were never more than a—than a wolf in sheep's clothing!"

"Not a wolf, but not a sheep either," said Beren, leaning back and holding on to the bars. "Just a man of practicality."

Balin looked between Beren and Denethor warily. Should he step in? He supposed he owed Denethor this chance, but he was beginning to fear that it was Beren who was getting his chance, instead.

"You know this will end with tears and bloodshed if we oppose the Dark Lord," Beren continued. Denethor stared at him, wide-eyed. "Spare the people of Gondor such a fate. Join with Sauron now."

"And enslave Men to his will?" Denethor retorted. "Do you not see how far you have fallen, how deceived you are? What you believe to be wisdom is folly!"

"No, _you_ are the fool, Denethor," Beren snarled, hitting the bars of his cell. Denethor jumped. "You are not a king, not a prince, not a great man—just the son of a Steward. A lesser Man! Sauron does not fear people like you or me. He _crushes_ us. You are _weak_ , Denethor. Too weak to be a threat."

Denethor had stepped far away from the cell at this point. Even in the low light, tears were visible trailing down his cheeks; his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Balin stepped forward nervously. Perhaps he should intervene…

Beren's voice softened, and he looked at Denethor entreatingly.

"But in your position," he said, "you could be an asset—if only you turn now."

Denethor continued to stare at Beren wordlessly. A pang of fear went through Balin's heart. He had let it go too far, and now Denethor was seriously considering his offer. What would he tell Thorin? What would he tell Gondor?

"My lord," Balin said nervously, "do not listen to him. Nothing good will ever come of it."

Denethor seemed not to hear his words. His gaze was fixed on Beren.

"You have one chance to renounce your alliance with the Dark Lord," he said, his voice steady. "This is your one and _only_ chance. I will not listen to this folly, but I will grant you mercy—if you repent _now_."

Beren smirked. "Granting such things is the domain of your father, not you."

"I have the right to act in my father's name, unless you have forgotten," Denethor retorted, his voice growing in strength.

"With _my_ counsel, unless _you_ have forgotten," said Beren. "Do you think your father would trust you to make such decisions on your own? _Please_ , Denethor. He would not want you to make such a choice without him, since you will not trust my _wise_ counsel. I will not apologize for making the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth east of the Misty Mountains see the truth about the Dark Lord. They must turn. We all must turn or we will die."

Denethor stepped back and pulled himself to his full height. Beren smiled, clearly thinking he had been victorious. His fingers drummed against the bars of his cell.

"I see there is no reasoning with you," Denethor said coldly. "Very well; the Dwarves will dispose of you in whatever way they see fit."

Beren's face instantly melted from victory into abject horror.

"But, my lord," he said, "surely you will want to—Lord Ecthelion would—you cannot—"

"Goodbye, Beren," Denethor said shakily. He turned abruptly and began to walk away; after a glance at Beren, Balin followed.

"Denethor, wait!" came Beren's voice from behind them, but Denethor did not turn. Beren called again, but his every cry fell on deaf ears; they continued to walk away, neither one speaking, and finally Beren's desperate cries faded from their hearing.

* * *

"Why would you not tell me this?"

Fíli opened his eyes and lifted his head. Nála was looking at him, her green eyes shining. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth. He had already said so much. What else could he say?

"Don't you trust me?" she asked, looking at him beseechingly. "Did you not know that I would not forsake you for such a thing?"

Fíli looked down, chagrined. He swallowed.

"I…" he started, but his voice caught in his throat. His face felt warm. Nála's fingers brushed his throat softly. "I was ashamed. You've known me my whole life, Nála. I always wanted to look strong and brave for you, and knowing that I couldn't always… be that…"

"No one is _always_ strong or _always_ brave, Fíli," said Nála, pulling up his chin and searching his eyes. "We all have our weaknesses and our fears. That is why we have each other." Her hand rested on his chest and she smiled softly. "Let someone else be your lionheart every now and then."

Fíli huffed. He was not sure how much he agreed with that.

"I would rather be strong myself than rely on another," he said. "Even if that other is you."

Nála scowled. "Do you not trust me, then?" she asked. "Do you think that I cannot be strong as a woman—as your wife?"

"I—I didn't say that," Fíli said, flushing. "I simply meant that—"

"That as a prince of the line of Durin, you have to be the one with all the answers, perfectly in control of yourself and your situation at all times?" said Nála, raising an eyebrow.

Fíli furrowed his brow. "I am not Thorin," he said.

Nála seemed unperturbed by his displeasure. "And yet you are so much like him," she said. "So determined to be a perfect Dwarf, a perfect leader…"

Fíli pressed his lips together and tried to think of a way to refute that, but he couldn't.

"I cannot expect you to be strong _for_ me," he said finally.

Nála considered this and nodded.

"But you do not always have to be strong, either," she said.

Fíli blinked. "But—"

Nála put her fingers over his lips and smiled. "I do not love you for your strength and brave deeds, Fíli," she said. "I admire you for that, certainly, but that is not why I love you. I love you for _you_."

Fíli simply stared at her, uncomprehending. What was he if not a great warrior, a noble prince, a loyal son and nephew, a proud heir of Durin? What did she love him for? She was looking at him strangely, but he did not know what to say. Moments of silence passed between them, and she searched his eyes, that strange look never leaving her face.

Finally, she smiled and took his hands in hers.

"I love the sleepy look on your face when you are still trying to wake up in the morning," she said quietly, studying his hands as she locked her fingers in his. "I love that you can never resist a sweet that is offered to you. I love the way your nose crinkles when you smile. I love how you can never say no to another new knife or axe even though you already have so many, how you stick out your tongue when you're playing something complicated on the fiddle, how you squint when you are confused… I love the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you are just… you." She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, and then she looked up at his face, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

Fíli continued to stare.

"But that's just me," he said. "That's not… anything I've done."

Nála threw her head back and laughed suddenly and loudly, and Fíli jumped and cocked his head to one side, perplexed. She looked back at him and kissed him on the cheek, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Exactly, you numpty," she said. "Don't you see? Yes, you have been hurt, scarred, even, in more ways than one. But your feats in battle, though great—don't look at me like that, you are a _great_ warrior—are not what made me love you, Fíli. _You_ are what made me love you. Just as you are. You don't need to pretend to be anything else. I will love you just the same."

Fíli did not quite know how to respond to that, but he could feel tears building in his eyes. He leaned forward and buried his face into Nála's hair, wrapping his arms around her waist. She chuckled and hugged him tightly.

"So do you trust me?" she whispered in his ear.

Fíli shifted so that he was resting against her and kissed her jaw gently.

"Look at me, Fíli," she said. He looked up into her serious face. "Do you trust me to love you, no matter what?"

Of course he did. He did, didn't he? She said that she loved him, even after all that had happened. She had seen him weak and sick, unable to walk, barely able to talk, in tears, terrified and traumatized. He had told her all that had happened to him, all that he suffered, and yet here she was, asking if he trusted her. How could he not after all this? And yet still he wavered. Self-hatred and horror rolled through him forcefully. He closed his eyes.

Then, suddenly, Nála's lips were on his.

At first he froze, surprised; he had expected her to be disappointed, dismayed—but no, instead, she was kissing him. Passionately. Even after all this, she did not draw away, did not leave him, but she was here beside him. He pulled his mind away from everything, from his pain and his heartache, and melted into the kiss, focusing on her—her lips upon his, her left hand resting upon his cheek, her right hand against the back of his neck, the places where their legs touched, where their bodies were pressed together. Each place where he felt her warmth and her touch was a testimony that she loved him, that she would always love him, that she would never leave him. He had told her about his weakness, his vulnerability, his failures and shortcomings, and still she loved him. It was one thing to know and another to know in his heart. He was loved, and nothing could ever take that away from him.

He was loved.

Nála pulled back and pressed her forehead against his. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in the smell of mountain pines and ink and paper, feeling where their heads met, where her fingers traced his jaw.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Do you trust me?" she asked again, slipping her hands to the back of his neck and massaging it gently. He was silent for a few moments longer, and her grip tightened.

"I trust you," he said. "I do. I will."

Nála pulled his head into her shoulder and hugged him tightly. He rested in her embrace, keeping his eyes closed. _I trust her. I choose to trust her._ He had been a fool. No battle, no fears, no man or orc could come between them. He would not allow it. Not anymore.

* * *

"So death it is, then," said Thorin.

"Aye," said Balin, walking quickly with him back to the royal wing. "He refused to repent… seemed to think he would be brought back to Gondor. I believe he was confident that his high standing with Lord Ecthelion would grant him immunity from Dwarven justice."

Thorin smiled grimly. "Men are fools," he said. "It is a pity they do not live long enough to gain wisdom."

"But may I ask, Thorin, _why_ are we going to retrieve Fíli?" Balin asked. "He has been through so much just in the past day… do you really want to make him stand before Men and Elves? We should give him some time to rest, regain his strength. Regain himself."

"Fíli would not want us to think of him so," Thorin replied. "I have misgivings, too. But I am sure he wants to appear as strong as he can before them. We should give him the chance to decide for himself."

"Nála has been a great strength to him," said Balin. "I know she is not his wife yet, but perhaps he will wish for her to accompany him…"

"We will leave that to Fíli as well," said Thorin. "Let us just hope at the moment that we find them in a less… compromising position… than Kíli did earlier."

Balin made a disgruntled sound, and Thorin smiled. Balin was one of the most proper Dwarves he had ever known, and to Balin, Fíli and Nála's behavior was a constant headache. He always seemed to be concerned about their image—as though people did not know that the two were in love. As for Thorin, such overt displays of affection had always made him uncomfortable and even a little baffled. Why were such things necessary? He had never felt the desire to behave so himself and had never understood how others did. Watching his sister with Jóli had always been strange; he was glad their love had brought forth Fíli and Kíli, but the connection they had was foreign to him. And now Fíli was the same with Nála. He avoided catching them in one of their moods of passion as much as necessary, but the two young fools were head over heels, and one never knew if they would turn a corner and find them doing something usually reserved for a more private setting. It had quickly become a great nuisance.

Fortunately, when Balin and Thorin entered the parlor, Fíli and Nála were acting properly, simply sitting together on the couch and holding hands. Fíli was saying something quietly, and Nála was smiling; she looked up as he entered the room and nodded in greeting. Fíli turned to see who she was looking at.

"Uncle," he said. "Balin. What did Denethor say?"

"He will allow us to execute the Man," Balin replied. "He even gave him a chance to repent, but Beren refused. He seemed to think he would be granted more mercy than he actually got."

"For a councillor, he seems quite the fool," said Nála.

"He'll be a dead fool soon," said Thorin. "Fíli, I have called together the other dignitaries to tell them what our decision is and what comes next. Will you come?"

"What _does_ come next?" Fíli asked.

"Finding out who else is a traitor," Thorin growled. "Those _Men_ had a spy right under our nose—"

"Eh, well, I don't know if that's the best course of action, Thorin," Balin interrupted hastily.

Thorin wheeled on Balin. "What?" he demanded, glaring down at his old friend.

Balin hesitated a moment before speaking again. "Thorin, we must remember that the reason we are gathered here is to _create_ and _maintain_ alliances, not shatter them. By continuing to suspect our guests, we will only strain friendships that are already weak or just beginning."

"But we cannot leave spies in our midst!" said Thorin incredulously. He gestured to Fíli. "Look what they have done! Would you let this happen again?"

"I understand, Uncle," said Fíli slowly. Thorin turned to look at him; Fíli looked thoughtful, but cautious. He looked his uncle in the eye. "What has happened to me I never want to happen again. But we cannot allow diplomatic ties to be cut over this."

Thorin furrowed his brow and looked from Fíli to Balin and back.

"Do you not understand that there are traitors among us?" he asked them both. "I cannot make alliances with Men who are advised by servants of the Dark Lord! Beren said he was not working alone…"

"But perhaps he was," said Balin, taking a step forward. "We cannot know that he was telling the truth. I believe that he was one servant of evil among us, bent on dividing us and raising suspicion. Do you want to give him what he seeks?"

"You cannot know that for sure," Thorin argued. "I will not treat with such Men—"

"Then you have doomed us, Thorin," said Balin sharply. "We Dwarves are a great people, and we have a great and fortified kingdom, but we cannot stand alone against the will of Sauron. Yesterday was confirmation that he is already moving. Would you keep us isolated and unprotected?"

"We are protected by our own," Thorin retorted. "And isolation seems to work for some."

"I never thought I would see the day that you would model your behavior after Thranduil, Uncle," said Fíli hotly.

That caught Thorin off-guard. He stammered for a moment, looking at the hard face of his nephew. Fíli stared back.

"This is not just _your_ kingdom," Fíli said. "One day I will be King Under the Mountain, and when that day comes, I would like to have the goodwill of all the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. You cannot destroy that for me; I will not let you. Not even in the interest of protecting me. And _especially_ not in the interest of avenging me."

Thorin looked curiously at Fíli, their eyes locked. When had his nephew gotten this perceptive? Had he always been able to see right through him? His face held the same determined look that it had the day Thorin had left his nephews behind in Lake-town, or the day when the armies of Moria and Gundabad had attacked and he in his madness had kept holed up in a ruined Erebor, sitting atop a mountain of gold with no thought to the lives of the slain. Suddenly the years stretched out before him, and he looked upon his own life, his own decisions, from the day Erebor had been attacked by the dragon to now. He saw the bitterness and anger that had consumed him, driven him, kept him blind to the qualities of a great king. He looked in the eyes of Fíli and saw none of those vices. Fíli was selfless, wise, unbroken by the cares of this world. All things Thorin had never been.

_You're not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thráin?_

Thorin passed a hand over his eyes. He still thought that there was a chance that Beren was not working alone, but Fíli and Balin were right—they could not sever ties with other kingdoms because of one man. It was folly. He turned to Balin.

"Very well," he said. "We will abandon the search for now and return to negotiations. But there should be some way to set precautions for the future…"

"I am sure the other dignitaries are looking hard at their own people already," said Balin, "but perhaps we can warn them. Perhaps Denethor will wish to. The poor lad is in quite a state."

"He has cooperated with us so far," said Thorin thoughtfully. "Fíli, are you in agreement with this plan?"

"As long as we maintain friendship, I am fine with it," Fíli replied.

"Nála, you may come if you wish as well," Thorin said.

"It is not customary for a fiancée to accompany the prince on state matters, but if Fíli wants me to come, then I will," she replied, looking to him.

Fíli shook his head. "Let's not change any customs at the moment," he said. His gaze settled on Balin and Thorin, and he grinned wickedly. "Though I am surprised two such sticklers for the rules would allow such a thing…"

"Watch who you are sticking barbs in, dear prince," said Thorin, though he smiled ruefully. "Do not forget who gives blessing to your marriage."

Fíli opened his mouth, but then swallowed down whatever retort he was about to give. He licked his lips and pressed them together, and Nála looked up at the ceiling, clearly holding in laughter. Thorin shook his head and chuckled.

"Well, the others are probably gathering," said Balin. "We should get on our way."

Fíli turned to Nála and gave her a soft kiss; she whispered something in his ear, and he smiled and nodded, squeezing her hand. Then he rose and looked at Thorin and Balin expectantly, settling himself on his feet.

"All right, let's go," he said.

Balin led the way. Soon enough they were in the meeting chambers; already present were Kíli, Denethor and Thorongil, all standing and waiting for the others to arrive. Fíli looked to Thorin curiously.

"Where are the rest of the people?" he asked.

"We thought to keep this meeting small to limit questions," Thorin replied. _And to make sure you were not overwhelmed._ He would not tell Fíli that. Any concern for Fíli's well-being, however kindly meant, was met with resistance; the lad hated being the cause of anyone's worry at all. Thorin was still amazed that he had actually asked for Nála the day before. It just showed how poorly he had felt. He met eyes with Kíli, who immediately looked pointedly from him to Fíli, silently asking if he was to keep close. Thorin shook his head slightly, and Kíli furrowed his brow, but stayed put, and Thorin turned his gaze to the others in the room.

"Thorongil," Thorin said, nodding to the Ranger in greeting. "Have you seen Bard or Thranduil?"

"I am sure they are on their way," said Thorongil. "It took some work, but we did convince the Elvenking not to abandon us."

Thorin heard Balin sigh in relief next to him. He could not say that he was happy, himself, but it was a relief to know that there was still a chance that Thranduil would come to their aid in a tough spot. Not a guarantee, but a chance.

"Thank you, Thorongil," he said. "I greatly appreciate your help in this matter."

"Of course, my lord," said Thorongil, touching one hand to his chest and bowing his head. An Elven gesture. Thorin tried not to show his annoyance.

"And how do you fare, Lord Denethor?" asked Fíli, turning to him.

"As well as can be, all things considered," Denethor replied hoarsely. He met Fíli's gaze for only a moment before casting his red-rimmed eyes to the ground. There was a moment of silence.

"I am sorry this happened to you, my lord," Fíli continued. "Such a betrayal must be very hard to bear."

Denethor's head shot up, his eyes wide.

"No, Prince Fíli, it is I who should apologize," he said. "I brought Beren here—I trusted him, and he caused you great suffering. He is my responsibility."

"Still, such a loss is difficult," said Fíli. "You were close to him. I know it is nowhere near an even exchange for a life, but if we can send you home with a gift of some kind, I would gladly arrange it."

Thorin stared at Fíli incredulously. Never would he have apologized for executing a traitor, let alone send the one who brought him into their midst home with a gift. Where had Fíli gotten such great humility and grace? Surely not from the stubborn line of Durin. Perhaps whatever Jóli had managed to pass on to his son in seven short years had been enough.

One thing was for sure: Fíli would be a better king than Thorin had ever been or ever would be.

"Thank you for your great generosity, Your Highness," said Denethor, bowing his head. "But it feels uncouth to request such a thing now."

"I insist," said Fíli. "Talk to me later."

Denethor simply nodded, looking uncomfortable. Fíli found himself a seat near Kíli and sat down; Thorin spied him fixing his sleeves. A nervous habit. He resisted the urge to go over and rest a hand on his nephew's shoulder. Kíli sat down beside him and said something inaudible, and Fíli nodded.

The sound of footsteps came from behind, and Thorin turned. Thranduil flowed into the room, keeping his gaze far above the Dwarves' heads, and Bard followed, looking slightly disgruntled.

"Thank you for joining us," Thorin said quickly, before the Elvenking could make some sort of derisive remark. "Please have a seat; we have been awaiting your arrival."

"Thank you for your patience, my lord," said Bard, taking a seat and glancing warily at Thranduil, who sat silently, his nose held high. Thorin shifted his jaw. This Elf was insufferable.

No sooner had they sat down than a Dwarf entered the room—one of the messengers. Whichever twin it was, he did not know.

"Falur," said Fíli. "This is a private meeting. Is something amiss?"

"Aye, my lord," said Falur, panting and bowing deeply. "Forgive my intrusion, please, but I have received very important news from down below."

"Can it wait?" asked Balin.

"I believe it is relevant, sir," Falur replied nervously. "It has to do with the Gondorian prisoner…"

"He has been given his chance to repent, and he refused," said Denethor. "I am not interested in his begging any longer."

"I don't think he'll be asking for anything like that, my lord," said Falur. He looked to Thorin. "My instructions were to inform you privately."

"This meeting is about the very man," said Thorin. "You may tell us all at once. It will save us time."

"He is dead, my king," Falur said breathlessly.

Complete silence followed Falur's statement. Thorin stared at the messenger, blinked, and furrowed his brow.

"Come again?" he said.

"Beren is dead," Falur repeated.

"But we haven't killed him yet," said Kíli.

Thorin covered his eyes and shook his head. _Thank you, Kíli._

"How is he dead?" he said, lifting his eyes to Falur. "No one was to do anything yet. Who is responsible for this?"

"He—he ended his own life, it seems," said Falur. "Used his belt and the bars of his cell and strangled himself."

"Blimey," said Kíli.

"Coward," said Thranduil. "I assume you called us here to inform us that you meant to execute him. It seems he cannot even face the consequences for what he has done."

Thorin sat silently, brooding. Denethor was staring out into nothing, paler than pale; when he blinked, a single tear trailed down his cheek. Thorin looked away. The traitor had stolen from them the chance to have justice done. At least Thorin had been able to personally dispose of Azog for the harm _he_ had done to the Line of Durin. Now he was robbed even of that.

"Perhaps this will work in our favor," said Fíli. "A cowardly suicide holds less power than an execution, don't you think? You can't really martyr yourself…"

"But we cannot make an example of him, either," said Kíli, voicing Thorin's thoughts.

"Then what remains to be done?" asked Bard.

There was silence around the room. Thorin surveyed the others, none of whom seemed ready to volunteer an answer.

"Thank you, Falur," he said. "You are dismissed."

Falur bowed and departed, and still the others did not speak. They all appeared deep in thought—well, all save for Thranduil, whose expression always seemed to be the same.

Suddenly, Fíli spoke. "Let me appear before the people and tell them what has happened," he said.

Thorin shook his head. "No, Fíli, that is not necessary," he said. "I can do that."

Fíli shot him a withering look. "But if they see me alive and well," he said, "and there are others like him in our midst, they will see that his plan completely failed. They will see that I am well enough to carry on as before, that Beren was a coward who could not even face the consequences for what he so deeply believed in, and that we"—he gestured to the group around the table—"still stand together, that we will not be torn apart by one servant of evil. The enemy is not that strong. We cannot allow such a foothold to be gained."

"I think that would work very well," said Denethor, stroking his chin.

"It would help to discourage others in our midst," added Bard.

" _If_ such people exist," said Balin. "Beren could have been lying. It would suit his purpose to say he was not alone, whether or not it is true."

"I believe it is a good move," said Thranduil.

It took all Thorin had within him not to let his jaw drop as he gawked at the Elf. Thranduil had actually _complimented_ Fíli's idea. Perhaps there was greater hope of true alliance between the Elves of the Woodland Realm and the Dwarves of Erebor in the future than Thorin had hoped. Thranduil would never have offered such a compliment to Thorin himself, no matter how great the idea.

Fíli looked almost as surprised as Thorin felt. "Well, er," he said, "when should we announce it?"

"The sooner the better, I think," ventured Thorongil. "When the security of the mountain is no longer in question, we can return to talks of how to stop the enemy from here. In the face of such an assault upon one of us, the need to have a plan becomes all the more important. We must get back to our original intentions for being here."

"I agree," said Denethor. "I would like to go home with _some_ good news for my father."

"Then it is settled?" asked Thorin, standing. "We will call together an assembly of the delegates and Fíli will inform them of the goings-on of the past day and a half. Afterward we will continue on as planned with talks of the future."

"And if there are questions?" asked Balin.

Thorin paused and looked at Fíli, who looked back at him with nervous eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. He nodded back to him.

"I will answer questions, and I think Lord Denethor should join me," he said. "If that is all right with you, my lord."

"It is the least I can do," Denethor replied gloomily.

"Very well, then," said Thorin. "All in agreement, say aye."

Every voice called _aye_ around the table. Thorin smiled at Fíli proudly.

* * *

"I think that went well."

"I agree, Kíli," said Dís. "Everyone was very cooperative. We accomplished great things today."

Fíli smiled and linked his arm with his mother's as they all walked together back to the royal wing—Kíli, Dís, Thorin, and himself. They had indeed accomplished much. Fíli had shared his story with all, but he was grateful that Thorin and Denethor had been there to answer questions, for there had been so many that eventually Thorin had to cut them off. Fíli had already been exhausted by that point, and then there were the meetings that had been the whole point of this great gathering. Even Thranduil had actively participated, giving ideas and suggestions that were much appreciated by those among him who were far younger and far less experienced in matters of war. The Men of Dale had pledged to bring troops to Erebor, should an attack ever come, and the Dwarves of Erebor had pledged the same. Furthermore, all parties had promised to investigate thoroughly among their own people for traitors. It gave Fíli hope.

"And you did very well today, too, Fíli," said Thorin, peering over at him. "I am impressed with how well you handled everything."

Fíli frowned, and Dís pulled him closer.

"He means your political work, my love," she said. "Though you did well, all things considered, too."

"Thank you," Fíli said quietly. Truth be told, he was ready to sit somewhere quiet for a good, long while. He had a feeling that the others were only walking with him to make sure he was fine getting back, and irritation niggled at his insides. He hated that they fretted over him. And yet, he also knew that they were his best anchor into the here and now. The flashes of memory were still coming at him, but they seemed to have less power now than before he had told Nála. That showed him something. He knew his family was right; he could not seclude himself when he was having difficulty and try to deal with it on his own. He had even admitted that they were right in the past, but today had shown him that if he wanted to overcome instead of to cope, he had to _act_ like they were right.

"You all right, Fee?" asked Kíli, pulling him from his thoughts.

Fíli swallowed down his irritation and nodded. "I'll be fine."

Dís cast him a sideways glance. "Well, I particularly liked that dam from the Iron Hills," she said. "Elís, was it? She was at you lads' table at dinner yesterday, wasn't she? Very sensible, I think. What did you think of her, Kíli?"

Kíli shot their mother a look of such vehemence that Fíli let out a snort and then covered his mouth. The glare found its way to him next, and he bit his lip and looked away.

"In fact," Dís continued, undaunted, "I believe she said she liked it here and would like to return some time."

"Great," Kíli muttered to the floor. Dís caught Fíli's eye and winked, and he struggled to keep his composure. Even Thorin seemed to be fighting a smile.

They had reached the royal wing now. Fíli stopped, and the others stopped with him.

"I think I would like to retire to the parlor," he said. "I have been around quite a lot of people today, and I would like some quiet."

Dís and Thorin exchanged glances, and Fíli let out a sigh. They both looked back to him.

"Of course," said Thorin as Dís let go of his arm. "I will make sure you are not disturbed."

Fíli bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Uncle."

Dís kissed him on the cheek and took his hand. "Would Nála be a disturbance?" she whispered.

Fíli shook his head and smiled up at her. Her eyes softened, and she kissed him again on the forehead. He felt a bit like a child again, but he allowed her the act; he had been through quite a bit, and he knew she was just glad to see him on his feet, especially so soon.

"Good night, Fíli," said Thorin, taking a step away. Dís let go of his hand and walked off with Thorin, leaving Fíli and Kíli alone. Kíli wavered for a moment, clearly wishing to say something, but staring at the floor instead.

"Kíli?" said Fíli.

His brother looked back up. He still looked unsure, so Fíli waited; after a few moments, all Kíli did was sigh and then move in to hug him tightly.

"Love you, brother," he mumbled in Fíli's ear. Then he stepped back and made his way down the corridor without another glance back.

Bemused, Fíli stepped into the parlor and settled down on the couch. The fire was burning merrily, and he watched the flames flicker and dance, trying to think of nothing at all. He had had enough thinking for the day; now it was time to relax.

How long he stared into the fire, he did not know, but suddenly he became aware that someone had just sat beside him. He pulled himself out of his reverie and looked; it was Nála. She said nothing, only smiled, and then she drew up her knees and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple softly. She closed her eyes.

Perfect. This was perfect. Fíli turned his gaze back to the fire in the hearth and let the evening pass him by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again, we meet the end of a fic.
> 
> If you were one of those who was like HEY WAIT YOU NEVER SAID WHAT HAPPENED TO FILI, it's because you didn't read Ice and Fire (oneshot) and The Ghost of Erebor (9 chapters). So yes I did say but you didn't read it, and honestly I think they're a couple of the best things I've written so please enjoy them.
> 
> Oh! So I finally found some actresses who make good faces for a couple ladies here and honestly I can't believe I didn't see Nála before. Eleanor Tomlinson has a perfect Nála face. And for Elís, I picked Laura Donnelly, who has the face AND the perfect voice. Perfect.
> 
> Oh and I got tumblr again. I may not follow you (I'm trying to severely limit my time there) but please don't be afraid to interact with me. My url is now italian-hobbit because someone took mistergandalf even though they don't use it. But it's whatever.
> 
> Other than that, please do review! Reviews are lifeblood. Plus they give me ideas for the future! ;)


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